


Not Fade Away

by Slide (JustSlide)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cancelled like I'm Fox Network and the fic is Firefly, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Loads and Loads of Characters - Freeform, M/M, Marauders' Era, No non-canon ships carved in stone, Unfinished, abandoned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 189,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSlide/pseuds/Slide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She fights for a world she hates as much as it hates her. It never stops; not until the world of magic burns to ashes to be reborn, or destroys Lily Evans and all caught in her wake.</p><p>From the start of sixth year at Hogwarts to beyond the death of Voldemort, the rise of the bright young friends, allies, and enemies of the Order of the Phoenix - and how each and every one of them fell.</p><p>Unfinished/Abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1: A Storm is Threatening

_War, children, it_ _’s just a shot away,_  
_It_ _’s just a shot away._

\- _‘Gimme Shelter,’ The Rolling Stones (1969)_

 

No spell could stop the searing summer, so Sirius bought a fan. The noise of its relieving rattling and the blaring radio almost drowned out his brother’s hammering on the door, letting him ignore it moments more to preen at the mirror. His hair had to flow perfectly, his shirt had to be rumpled just right, and above all, he had to hide the pack of cigarettes in his jacket. Regulus would tell. Regulus would _always_ tell. 

Regulus also didn’t wait for summons, shoving the door in to stand in Sirius’ bedroom like a paler, scrawnier, indignant shadow of his elder brother. ‘You need to turn that down!’ 

‘What was that?’ Sirius swaggered to the windowsill where speakers obligingly poured Radio Jackie through Grimmauld Place. The Stones came so loud the it whined at the pitch-changes. ‘You want me to turn it up?’ 

‘ _Sirius_! They’ll be back soon!’ 

The faithful little battery-powered radio didn’t go any louder. Sirius pouted and turned it down, if only so he didn’t have to raise his voice to piss off his brother. ‘Which is why I’m gone in five minutes.’ 

‘Gone?’ 

‘Yeah.’ Sirius turned to Regulus. His brother wore a baggy white shirt, dark hair tousled and messy. No doubt he’d been upstairs with his nose in a book for hours. ‘Another exciting night in for you, then, huh?’ 

‘Did they give you permission -’ 

‘What do you think?’ Regulus didn’t move, so Sirius let his shoulder shove him out the way as he left. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be with _respectable_ people -’ 

‘The Potters aren’t respectable -’ 

‘Give it up, Reg.’ Sirius didn’t look back and went downstairs. Regulus, of course, scurried after him like Kreacher might if someone had broken something and not instructed him if they wanted it fixing or throwing out. ‘Mum and Dad and I have an agreement: we disagree on everything. I’ve been cooped up here for two bloody months. I’m going out. To see _people_. You remember people?’ 

Regulus sputtered as Sirius wandered through the kitchen. ‘And what am I supposed to tell them?’ 

Sirius opened the back door and stopped, letting the gathering dusk creep in to shroud him, like comforting arms around his haughty indifference. ‘You can tell them the truth, Reg. You were all righteous and indignant. You reminded me of my duty as a good little Black. I ignored you. You couldn’t stop me. I don’t know why you’re so upset.’ He turned the collar of his leather jacket up, even if it was only early evening in the hottest summer he’d ever known. ‘Don’t worry. You get to be the _good_ one again. Maybe they’ll even love you for it.’ 

Perhaps Regulus had an answer, but Sirius knew better than to linger after his parting words. He let the kitchen door slam shut behind him as he sauntered into the back yard. Grimmauld Place was not a wide house, but the garden at least stretched on a way, rooftops of London poking in the distance over the back fence. The lawn was tidy, the flowers bloomed in their well-ordered beds at the edges, and even the scent of summer couldn’t stop it from being forced, sterile; a theatric display of the perfect urban wizarding garden. 

But Sirius didn’t have to wait long. He was just patting down his pockets and wondering if Regulus would spot him having a cheeky cigarette when a dark shape glinted in the blood-orange sky, shimmering from nothingness into a looming shadow. The winged Aethonan glimmered out of concealment charms and into sight first, but the wheeled cabriolet came not long after. Both swung through the evening sky to land, hooves and heavy wheels churning up Mrs Black’s perfect lawn. Sirius could have sworn he heard a squeal of indignation from Regulus behind him. 

A head of messy black hair stuck out from the cab window. ‘Oh, _no_ , Pads, we’ve messed up your garden. I’m _so sorry_.’ 

Sirius laughed his first real laugh of the summer and yanked open the cab door. ‘Hells,’ he declared, hurling himself onto the bench next to Peter, across from James and Remus. ‘I’ve missed you guys.’ 

James clapped him on the shoulder, and already the Potters’ Aethonan was turning for another take-off. Sirius heard the rustle of a wheel taking out his mother’s rose-bush. ‘Don’t worry. Tonight we make up for lost time.’

§ 

It was a magic bus. But it still rattled so hard Jack didn’t like resting his head on the window. So he sat up and lit a fag.

Dory elbowed him. ‘Oi.’ 

‘Ain’t no sign.’ 

‘I mean gimme one.’ 

Outside, towns swapped for fields swapped for towns. The speed was impossible, probably, but Jack wasn’t even sure where they were going. Maybe she didn’t live that far from Peckham. Dory was the one calling the shots. He considered refusing her, then remembered she’d somehow convinced him to come out anyway. He didn’t fancy another argument. 

‘Cheers. And a light?’ Dory stuck the cigarette between her lips. He sighed and fished out his lighter. She could do it herself. 

It meant she was silent for a few seconds. Jack took advantage of the rare moment to look up and down the Knight Bus, clocking each witch and wizard glaring at them. This was every passenger, but it was early evening, so there weren’t many. He didn’t care, but it was good to know how much shit he was going to have to put up with if someone decided to be a busybody. 

‘So where _are_ we going?’ he grunted when Dory handed him the lighter back. 

‘Oh, you’re Mister Attentive, aren’t you? I said, we’re picking up -’ 

‘Yeah, but hell is that?’ 

‘Bumfuck nowhere in the Midlands - don’t ask me to find it on a map. I say the town to owls and the Knight Bus, and magic does the rest.’ Dory grinned impishly at him. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t be there long; I promise to not let you get terrorised by sheep.’ 

Jack grunted again. ‘Cos I’m fuckin’ terrified of sheep, me.’ 

‘You seem terrified of something. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out _why_ you’d rather spend the night in crappy south London when you could go _out_. See people.’ 

‘September’s next week. See you plenty then.’ 

Dory rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll see _Travers_.’ 

‘Bugger Travers.’ 

‘This is what I like about you, Jack; you paint a picture with your words. Just four syllables and an entire _vista_ of your falling-out is painted for me.’ She cocked her head. ‘Is that why you didn’t want to go out? You didn’t want to see Travers?’ He grunted yet again, and she somehow rightly figured he meant, ‘no.’ ‘Then what? This’ll be good for you, Jack. Good for _us_. We’ll hang out. Meet new people. New and less arsehole-y people. The real pricks won’t be there; no _way_ would the McKinnons -’ 

He must have flinched. Or stopped puffing on his fag, or something, because Dory narrowed her eyes. ‘You got a problem with the McKinnons?’ 

Jack pulled up his leather jacket. ‘No more ‘n I got a problem with any rich pure-blood bastard.’ 

‘Nathaniel’s a good guy.’ 

He grunted. 

‘And Marlene’s _lovely_.’ 

Jack scowled. ‘They’re all the same, ain’t they.’ 

‘Well, we’re going to their party,’ said Dory, sticking her nose in the air. ‘So you’d better behave.’ 

‘I _know_. Keep lecturing me an’ I’ll take my fag back.’ 

‘Can’t. I got lipstick all over it.’ But Dory sank down onto her seat, small and plump and amused. ‘Oh, tonight’s going to go _well_.’

§ 

‘Who do they think they are?’ Saul Avery’s voice was a growl of a pup playing deploring parent, and he drank the glass of glimmering firewhiskey like it would grant him years and presence. It, of course, did neither.

_That_ _’s excellent. Drink so much before we go you cannot even stand. I see no flaws within this scheme._  
  
Randal Mulciber stood at the sitting room door, and merely by the raising of his hands did he summon silence. With the curtains drawn, the flames of the fireplace fought for dominance against the gloom of the corners, and crackled to cast curt shadows across his heavy features. ‘They’re one of the most prestigious magical families in Britain,’ he said, deep voice softer than usual. ‘They’re important and they’re influential.’ 

Saul’s head snapped around, the pup dissatisfied with the toy thrown his way. ‘You’re -’ 

‘Which is why they must be taught a lesson.’ The lines of Randal’s face turned sharper, as if finding focus, and Saul quietened. 

‘Too right,’ said Amycus Carrow, Randal’s eternal shadow. He did not, of course, break from beliefs embedded in his bones and offer an original thought of his own. 

His sister, however, gazed at Randal with gimlet eyes of green. ‘How, exactly, do we do that?’ 

‘Wreck the party,’ said Flint, forever the formidable figure offering suggestions over decisive malice. 

‘ _That_ _’ll_ make us popular,’ sneered Saul. 

Again Randal spoke, and again they all listened. ‘We don’t need to wreck anything. All we need is to be there. A _presence_. A reminder that when a family this powerful is so open, so inappropriate with who they welcome and embrace, we will _see_.’ 

‘And maybe,’ said Alecto, red wine swirling in her glass, ‘give some Mudbloods a miserable time.’ 

Shadows shifted as the corners of Randal’s mouth curled. ‘Maybe.’ But now he looked to the darkened corners, to the two who held their tongues. ‘Should I take silence as objection?’ 

Snape sat up from his corner, where he had only lingered to listen. Forever had he been at the periphery of these gatherings, and only in the last months had Randal included him more, invited him to the meets. But Snape shook his head. ‘No objection.’ 

‘Of course.’ Randal’s eyes trailed to the window where the last of them sat, watching the sun finish its feast upon the day and grow fat and tired in the sky and saying little. ‘Graham? It’s not like you to be so coy about this.’ 

_You mean it_ _’s my place to be quiet until pointing out how foolish you’ve been._ But it was easy as ever master his expression, simple to not smile. ‘You have fun. I’m not going out.’ 

Saul snorted. ‘Don’t have permission?’ 

Calm blue eyes met Randal’s and matched them. ‘My place is here until Wednesday.’ 

The answer of a smile was strained. ‘Of course. I was just afraid you were suffering an attack of Scottish solidarity.’ Despite the inference, the challenge, with a simple joke could Randal banish the tension. 

‘Not at all. I encourage you to go, and have fun. After all, brother,’ said Graham Mulciber, legs swinging off the windowsill as he sat up, ‘I have no love for the blood-traitor McKinnons or the Mudbloods they mingle with.’

§ 

She loved the prelude to a party. It made the air fizz with exciting optimism, all of the promise of things to come. The decorations gleamed, lights hanging from gutters, from every tree in the front garden. The band were setting up on their little stage thing outside, and she wondered if that was always there, or if they’d had it made for the occasion. House Elves fussed around to put the finishing touches on everything, so they were missing only two things, really, before they could get started. The first, and most obvious, was people.

The second was where Fletch and her friends came in. 

‘Your folks really don’t care about you throwing a party?’ she asked Nathaniel as they set down their crate by the two tables. One had been laid out with a spread of food and snacks that could feed the five thousand, let alone a slew of Hogwarts students. The other was empty - for now. 

‘They’re in Paris.’ Nathaniel McKinnon shrugged. ‘And they know we do this. So long as nothing gets broken or ruined, they prefer us doing it at home. Beats skulking off to suspicious corners of England to get drunk, yeah?’ His expression went flat. ‘Not that we’ll get drunk here.’ 

Fletch pushed the lid off the crate, and gestured with a flourish to the impossibly huge number of bottles and barrels in the magically-enlarged container. ‘Not at all.’ 

Nathaniel clapped. ‘You’re a life-saver, Fletch.’ 

‘I still charge ten percent for saving lives.’ She snapped her fingers at her two companions. ‘Come on, unpack.’ 

Stebbins’ eyes widened. ‘Don’t snap your fingers at us! We’re partners! Not flunkeys!’ Hargreaves, of course, simply shrugged and hefted the first barrel out of the crate. 

‘We all have our parts to play. I’m the pretty face. Hargreaves is the muscle, because she loves emasculating you.’ 

‘Everyone needs a hobby!’ called Hargreaves. She’d deposited the first barrel atop the table, and was already returning for another. 

‘I’m the brains,’ argued Stebbins. ‘So I say we make the House Elves do it.’ 

Fletch grinned and patted him on the cheek. ‘Good man.’ 

Hargreaves flopped against the crate. ‘Couldn’t have thought of that before I lugged one of those bloody things over there?’ 

Fletch ignored them and turned back to Nathaniel. ‘Not that I object to the chance of saving lives, but you’re of-age. Why can’t _you_ buy the booze?’ 

Nathaniel grimaced. ‘Who am I going to buy it off in this sort of bulk who won’t go running to my parents?’ 

‘Apparently,’ said Fletch with a grin and an elaborate bow, ‘Cornelia Fletcher.’ And she could buy in bulk from the Hog’s Head, because old Abe didn’t ask questions, not even of an underage Hogwarts student buying enough alcohol to sink Hagrid. ‘And I must say, Nate, it’s _very_ good of your parents to let you use your house. It’s a great place.’ 

Nathaniel turned to look over the McKinnon abode, a huge, sprawling country house in a corner of Lothian, southern Scotland so quiet they could be loud enough to wake the dead and still not break the Statute of Secrecy. He nodded to himself with satisfaction. ‘It is. And it’s going to be a _great_ End of Summer party.’

§ 

‘I’ll get it,’ Lily called as she sprang past the living room to answer the ringing doorbell. She’d been halfway through the book on Defence theory she’d picked up in Diagon Alley last week, but Dad had just settled down with the telly and a cup of tea. The more she could do for him before she left for school, the more she could pretend she wasn’t guilty for leaving him alone.

Not that she expected much. The Evans family didn’t have a lot to do with neighbours; not any more. And this summer she’d called a curt and decisive end to Severus’ visits, a final underlining of their parting ways at Hogwarts. 

Even if she’d expected a magical visitor, though, she certainly wouldn’t have expected Dorcas Meadowes - short, plump, blue-haired and grinning from ear to ear - and Jack Corrigan - broad-shouldered, leather jacket adorned with studs and badges, surly and smoking. She _knew_ them, of course; she shared a dorm with Dory. But they hung out in different circles, and she didn’t think she’d ever exchanged two words with Hufflepuff Corrigan. 

‘Come on, Lily!’ Somehow, Dory’s smile only broadened. ‘We’re going to the McKinnon party!’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, welcome, to my new project! I'm brand-new to Ao3, so we'll see how this whole thing goes. Hopefully this story speaks for itself, but I should make some things clear: this is going to be a long story, this is going to have me here for the long-haul, and it is going to be a canon-compliant depiction of the First War from August 1976 to its very end. 'Liberties' taken with canon will likely be things I planned before JK's continuous releases messed with me, or me throwing her dates out the window on occasion.
> 
> Most chapters won't be 'bitty' like this one, too; all will become clear soon.
> 
> And I look forward to experiencing this new (to me), shiny archive!


	2. Teenage Wasteland

**Teenage Wasteland**  


_Don_ _’t cry,_  
_Don_ _’t raise your eye,_  
_It_ _’s only teenage wasteland._  
_-_ _‘Baba O’Riley,’ The Who (1971)_

 

It wasn’t that Lily didn’t like Dorcas Meadowes. She was easy to get on with, so long as you coped with her sometimes caustic sense of humour. They’d roomed together for five years, had partnered in a few classes. When the central core of Gryffindor girls opened its loving arms and welcomed everyone to socialise - in the common room, or between lessons, or at lunches - they hung out. But whenever they had a choice, they moved in different circles. They weren’t _friends_.

Jack Corrigan, on the other hand, she struggled to even call an acquaintance. He was a Hufflepuff and a troublemaker and once put Cecil Stebbins through a greenhouse window. That was back in fourth year, but Lily still remembered how Stebbins had only avoided worse injury because Amy Hargreaves had pulled a knife on Corrigan. It was the kind of physical altercation Hogwarts wasn’t properly equipped to handle, but which a Muggle-born from run-down Cokeworth had the _perfect_ measure of. If she saw a boy like Corrigan coming down the street towards her, not that tall but muscular and swaggering, studs across the shoulder of his beaten leather jacket, she’d cross the road.

And neither of them belonged on her porch on the last weekend of August.

‘Party?’ Lily echoed, feeling about ten steps behind the world, catapulted into the void as the Earth moved briskly onward.

‘Nathaniel McKinnon’s throwing his regular End of Summer party.’ Dory’s round face was even rounder when she beamed up at her. ‘So, I thought we’d go. Before our noses get worn off by the NEWT-y grindstone.’

Heavily-entrenched British courtesies meant Lily could only work her jaw for a few moments before she managed, creakily, ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but -’

‘Why the fuck are we here for _you_?’ Corrigan was tapping ash off his cigarette into the plant-pot next to the door. Lily would have cared more if the front garden hadn’t been Petunia’s pride and joy. That, and she detected confused solidarity in his question, not dismissive insult. Whatever was going on, she suspected Dory was the mastermind and they were caught in her wake together.

‘That was rather the gist of it, yes.’

‘Can’t a girl show up on people’s doorsteps at the end of the day and abduct them to a party in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish lowlands? I promise I’m not going to hide your bodies in Nathaniel’s back yard.’

‘There’s a whole lot that can go wrong before axe-murder,’ Lily pointed out.

Dory sighed. ‘It’s simple. Sturgis and Beatrice have left Hogwarts, leaving _me_ on my lonesome. And you and Chuckles here both had an attack of “my best friend’s an enormous racist.” I thought we should start a shelter for abandoned losers.’

Lily glanced at Jack Corrigan, who didn’t look at her and instead glowered at one of the supremely ugly lawn ornaments Petunia had left behind. ‘Leo Travers?’

‘Turned into a right little fan of You-Know-Who, yeah. Snape?’

She hadn’t realised her falling out with Severus was public knowledge. ‘He always was one. I just stopped kidding myself.’

Jack grunted with what she thought was sympathy. ‘S’pretty bullshit.’

‘There, we’re all in agreement.’ Dory clapped her hands together. ‘Come on, Red.’

‘Which bit of my open-mouthed confusion did you take as me saying I’d go?’

‘Except, you should.’

Lily spun to see her father in the hallway, arms folded across his chest, eyes twinkling. Stephen Evans was not a big man, and the last few years had shrunk him even more, turned his laughs and smiles to thoughtful silences and pained grimaces. But she recognised that tone of voice, that set of his shoulders and his chin; he would not be opposed. ‘You’ve been cooped up all summer,’ he continued. ‘You should go out.’

Behind her, she was distantly aware of Jack ditching his cigarette in Petunia’s precious plant pot. She tried to ignore it, drawing a raking breath. ‘Dad, term starts Wednesday -’

‘And I know you; you’ll work hard at school and push yourself, and that’s great. So make the most of the summer. Go out with your friends. Have fun.’ Her father gave a deep sigh. ‘I manage without you for three months, Lily. I can manage for one extra night. Go, have fun, don’t get in _too_ much trouble, and be back at a sensible time.’ Then he turned on Jack Corrigan, and his voice shifted for that clipped, military tone she’d learnt to respect as a child. ‘And you, young man, will fish that cigarette out of my godawful ugly hyacinth.’

Jack’s indolent slouch died at once, and he mumbled an apology as he scrabbled in the plant pot. Dory beamed again. ‘Thanks, Mister Evans. We’ll be as responsible as three teenagers could _possibly_ be.’

Realising she had no good excuse to be a shut-in any more, Lily sighed and turned back to her father. ‘I won’t be late.’

‘Honestly, Lily,’ he said as he hugged her, ‘I’d be less worried if you _did_ act out once or twice. Have _fun_.’

It was warm enough that she only grabbed a jacket off the coat rack. She felt under-dressed following Dory, with her bright blue hair and wizard band t-shirt - the Taliesins, who’d been the hottest new magical band for twenty years - and Jack, with his cool leather coat. The words, ‘ _ALL THE HEROES ARE DEAD_ ,’ were stencilled across his shoulders in red.

‘Is that a band?’ Lily asked, and felt stupid.

‘Nah.’ Jack still clutched the cigarette butt he’d retrieved from the hyacinth. ‘Just the truth, innit?’

‘Don’t mind Chuckles,’ said Dory, bouncing out the gate onto the road. ‘He’s a man of few words, some of them deep, some of them raucously abusive.’

‘Piss off, Meadowes.’

‘See?’

Lily fought a smile and glanced sideways to see Jack doing the same thing. ‘So why’d she pick up _you_?’

‘Sat together on the Hogwarts Express first trip up, didn’t we? Don’t matter to her we barely _talked_ since.’

‘I wrote to you, first Christmas!’ Dory, leading the way, protested. ‘You just didn’t write _back_.’

‘You survived.’

Dory just scoffed and carried on. She seemed to know where she was going. The Evans family lived in one of the nicer and thus smaller housing estates in Cokeworth, where the red bricks of post-war semi-detached houses gleamed in the early evening glow. Cokeworth proper loomed down the hill, squatter and greyer and uglier, a gutted mess after the deaths of the mills. She wondered if Severus was down there, spending the night with his nose in a book. A party like this wasn’t really his style.

It wasn’t really _her_ style. For years he’d been her closest ally, the person she’d spend time with if she had the choice, and this, Lily realised, was why she was nothing more than a friendly acquaintance of Dory and the others. With Severus pushed away, there was nobody to write to over summer, nobody she was looking forward to seeing come Hogwarts. Until, maybe, now. Even if Jack had just chucked his cigarette butt in the neighbour’s shrubbery.

‘You know,’ she told him, ‘there are these things called _bins_ , and they take rubbish…’

He did, to his credit, look abashed. ‘Sorry. Too used to them being full or broken.’ He fished in a pocket and brought out a pack of Silk Cut. ‘Fag?’

Lily hesitated, then remembered her father’s parting words. _I can act out_ , she thought petulantly, and took the cigarette. ‘So how’re we getting there?’

Dory had been leading them out of the housing estate, beyond the network of houses and towards the A6 road that split nicer, newer Cokeworth from its old, run-down other half. At this time of night in the summer, there was little traffic on the road, which was just as well because she stuck out her wand and said, ‘Like this.’

It wasn’t that Lily hadn’t taken the Knight Bus before. It was her most reliable way of getting to Diagon Alley or King’s Cross, those occasions when her family hadn’t the time or wits to drive down to London. She was expecting to use it next week, because the alternative was going to Petunia’s on Tuesday night and she’d rather eat the cigarette Jack had just lit for her. But the appearance of the Knight Bus was always sudden and noisy and she still had to avoid snorting a gust of smoke as she yelped, ‘Fucking hell!’

Jack laughed. It was a loud, raucous laugh, the most animated she’d ever seen him outside of violence, but he did not, she thought, sound unkind. ‘And the Gryffindor princess unwinds.’

She turned her nose up at him. ‘We’re going to one of Nathaniel McKinnon’s parties. I’ll show you just how much I can unwind.’

 

§

 

Dobbs and Burke were decent Quidditch players but they were not, Lily thought as the trio crunched down the path towards the eclectic gathering of hyperactive Hogwarts students in the McKinnons’ courtyard, especially good musicians. That was fine, though, because Myron Wagtail was a ridiculously good singer and guitarist, prancing around on his makeshift stage with enough vim and vigour and half-decent sounds to keep everyone entertained. There was some dancing, though at this time of night more people were interested in the tables of food and drink. An odd energy hummed through the air, the same kind of enthused catching up Lily expected to see on the Hogwarts Express next week, and yet alongside it rode an explosive release of tension, the knowledge this was the last hurrah before school began.

‘Dory, you made it!’ A blonde shape detached from the merry throng to greet them, and Lily had to blink back surprise when she realised it was Marlene McKinnon. A little mousy, bespectacled, always studious and enthusiastic, a raucous party was not a scene she’d expected of the Ravenclaw. Then again, she was one of the hostesses, however much choice she’d had about it. ‘I wasn’t sure you were coming.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Dory jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I had to pick up these two losers from their lives of crippling isolation.’

‘Hey!’ said Lily. ‘I spoke to people over summer.’

‘Your Dad doesn’t count.’

‘What about -’

‘Or your owl.’

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ interjected Marlene graciously. ‘Are you taking Herbology NEWT, by the way? Everyone seems to be ditching it, which is _ridiculous_ because Sprout is _so_ underrated and if anyone wants to get _anywhere_ with Potions remotely seriously, you’ve really got to -’

‘Hey, we’re at a party,’ Dory interrupted. ‘No nerding.’

Jack was stood at the back with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, looking for all the world like he might be about to break something, and blurted at Marlene, ‘I’m taking Herbology.’ Everyone stared at him, and Lily stared _more_ when he started to go red. ‘What, it ain’t like I’m one of them fuckin’ losers who had their NEWT choices planned since first year…’

Now it was Marlene who turned a fainter, more delicate shade of pink. ‘Sure. I mean, who would do _that_.’

His expression screwed up. ‘As if you didn’t get your life planned by your family when you were three -’

Dory grabbed Jack’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s get you a drink before you hurt yourself,’ she growled, and dragged him towards the refreshments table. He let himself be steered, looking as if he’d been beaten about the head, and Lily followed them with an apologetic flash of a smile at Marlene.

‘What was _that_ all about?’ she asked as she caught up.

‘It’s about how you’ll do me a kindness and shut up,’ Jack mumbled.

‘Chuckles has a problem with people nicer than him,’ Dory explained. ‘I mean, sure, _he_ claims it’s a problem with rich pure-bloods, but if he’s going to be rude at _Marlene_ then it means he’s also a pillock.’

‘She’s one of our _hosts_!’ said Lily, looking aghast at Jack.

‘I didn’t mean nothing by it,’ he grumbled, shoulders slumped. ‘I just don’t know how to talk to people like her, do I?’

‘You could try,’ Dory suggested gently, ‘not calling her a loser.’ But they were at the drinks table by now. She let him go and he tore over to apply a free tankard to one of the kegs of ale. ‘It’s okay. Have a drink and forget. Marlene’s not one to hold grudges.’

‘You should apologise,’ prompted Lily, her sense of decorum perplexed by this turn of events. And she didn’t want Marlene to think she hung out with an ungrateful thug. ‘Try to have a proper conversation with her.’

Jack looked up from his tankard, across the crowd of party-goers to where Marlene had rejoined her friends, Baddock and Dhawan, all of them Ravenclaws. ‘Hell am I supposed to talk to someone like _her_ about?’ he demanded, indignant. It was a good question. Marlene was one of the brightest students in school, and a wealthy pure-blood to boot. Jack, dour and not particularly academic, not to mention a working class Muggle-born, couldn’t have less in common with her if he’d tried.

‘I don’t know,’ Lily admitted. ‘Um, Herbology?’

‘Merlin’s tits.’ Dory went for the table. ‘Leave him, it’s a lost cause. What’re you drinking, Red?’

‘Butterbeer?’

Dory smacked her palm against her forehead. ‘I forgot. Lily Evans is an enormous loser.’

Lily tried to exchange a glance with Jack, but he was busy drinking his bodyweight in cask ale. ‘Why _did_ I agree to come out with you tonight, if all I’m getting is abuse?’

‘It’s abuse coming from a place of love.’ Dory shoved a glass of something clear and fizzy into Lily’s hand. ‘We’re going into sixth year. The world’s going to shit in a shit-basket. Any one of us might get murdered just for walking down Diagon Alley. And NEWTs are starting. That’s not the kind of thing you do alone.’

‘Meaning,’ said Jack, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, ‘with Podmore and Newport gone, she’s as much of a lonely loser as us.’

‘I figured there’s strength in numbers. We can try to be cooler together.’ She swigged her drink. ‘Try to not get murdered together.’

There had been one advantage, Lily thought, to hiding in Cokeworth all summer and only reading the _Daily Prophet_ once or twice a week. At home she could pretend that her best friend wouldn’t rather everyone like her left the magical world. At home she could pretend a growing faction of wizards didn’t wish her harm. At home, she had to lie to her father so he didn’t know she stood a chance, as Dory put it, of being murdered just for walking down Diagon Alley.

‘Fuck them,’ she said after a heartbeat. ‘I’m as good or better with a wand than anyone at this party. They can bring it on.’ Dory and Jack looked at her, startled, and Lily remembered she’d spent much of the last two years away from most people except for Severus - Severus, he who knew more of the details than anyone and still couldn’t see the big picture. Her reputation didn’t include much room for vehement proclamations.

But Jack grinned and raised his tankard in salute. ‘I’ll drink to _that_.’

Dory raised her glass, too, so Lily followed suit and slammed back a mouthful of the fizzing drink, which went up her nose and tasted like a thousand lemons soaked in vodka. ‘What the _hell_ is this?’ she sputtered.

‘I dunno, it was in an unlabelled bottle -’

‘ _Dory_ -’

‘Unclench, Red!’

‘Unclenching doesn’t mean I want to go _blind_ -’

Then the fanfare started. Myron Wagtail had finished his last song, and not only put away his guitar but brought out a huge, three-horned, trumpet-like contraption. Dobbs and Burke beat a hasty escape, obviously not up for musical insanity of this calibre, but all heads turned as the mellow tunes, good for dancing, vanished for a brass cacophony. The lights twinkling from the courtyard’s tall trees and the walls of the McKinnon house stopped basking the party-goers in a soothing, mid-evening glow, and transformed into spotlights to fix on an area halfway down the main path.

That was when Lily saw the flying horse-drawn carriage sweeping down from the skies. A heartbeat later she saw the crest on the door. ‘Oh, _no_ ,’ she breathed.

The handsome Aethonian horse pranced as it drew up, perfectly placed to plant the new spotlights on the carriage door. The Potter family crest positively _gleamed_ before it was thrown aside for the short, round shape of Peter Pettigrew to bound out onto the gravel.

‘ _Ladies and gentlemen_!’ He couldn’t have an amplified voice - that would take a spell and a wand and not even _they_ would risk underage magic just for this - but Pettigrew had made a career of being the herald of things to come. He knew how to project. ‘I’m pleased to announce that the party has _just_ begun, because we - _they_ \- have arrived! You know them, you love them, _the Marauders_.’

‘Ooh,’ said Dory. ‘This should be good.’

‘Ugh,’ said Lily, and drained her glass.

But Pettigrew was carrying on, advancing with all of the vivacity of a ringmaster. While he was always the least of his little mob, she had to accept that he knew how to draw a crowd. ‘First, that _rascal_ of Hogwarts, the _dashing rogue_ of the Gryffindor; the ladies love him, the _men_ love him, _Sirius Black_!’

Black, of course, all but exploded from the carriage. Lily tried to not roll her eyes when she saw him wearing a Muggle leather jacket, like a more expensive, less spiky, more _artificial_ version of Jack’s. His beam was broad and obnoxious, he planted his hands on his hips and swaggered out like a peacock, and yet to her bewilderment the reaction was applause, not embarrassed laughter. A wave at the crowd here, a wink in the direction of Marlene McKinnon and Dorothy Baddock’s pack of girls, then he was prancing onward to the crowd.

‘Second, he might be a shy recluse, but he’s a _mastermind_ of -’

_‘Peter, please.’_

Lily didn’t know if she should feel relieved or embarrassed to see Remus slither out the carriage and grab Pettigrew’s arm, bright red. At least her fellow prefect had no time for this kind of sham, but he should have known better than to get into a carriage with the other three in the first place. And Pettigrew certainly didn’t care.

‘- of - damn it, Remus - look, ladies, you want someone to read you poetry and stargaze with you, you want _Remus Lupin_!’

‘Did this become some sort of creepy bachelor auction when I wasn’t looking?’ Lily muttered.

‘Sirius _did_ break up with Mary in April,’ said Dory, sounding inordinately pleased about this.

Lily looked at her. ‘You _don_ _’t_ fancy Black.’

‘What? No! Oh, here’s James -’

Lily put down her glass. ‘I’m not looking. It’s just what they want. Where’s the _whiskey_.’

‘… _towering intellect_ …’

She tried to block out Pettigrew as she made for the far end of the drinks table, where single bottles had been set out - and these ones had labels. She did, actually, know what she was doing with whiskey, it being a quiet indulgence of her father’s. But these were all wizarding drinks, so she found herself bewildered as she tried to ignore the introductions behind her.

‘ _…the demon on the Quidditch pitch!_ ’

Lily picked up a bottle, just as a voice next to her said, ‘I wouldn’t, that’s Old Beamish, it’s _very_ nutty. Here.’ A new bottle was planted in front of her. ‘Rigmhonath Signet, much more smoky.’

She turned to thank the sudden purveyor of whiskey, but didn’t get further than keen blue eyes and a smile like a challenge over a chessboard before there was a fresh eruption of applause. Despite herself, she looked over to see James Potter, champion attention-seeker and slayer of silent common rooms burst onto the gravel path like it was a red carpet. She could have taken this display in stride, Lily thought, but the crowd was actually buying into it, whooping and cheering like actual rock stars had shown up instead of a band of arrogant Sixth Years.

Grumbling, she stomped back to Dory and Jack. ‘Are our lives so wretchedly pointless that _this_ is what passes for entertainment? _So_ glad you brought me here, Dory.’

‘It’s just a bit of _fun_.’ Dory looked from her, to the whiskey bottle in her hand, to over her shoulder. ‘And since I stopped paying attention you obviously had a coolness transplant.’

‘What?’

‘Five seconds ago you were bitching about some sort of magical limoncello and suggesting Chuckles appease Marlene with Herbology. I turn around and you’re slugging single malt on the recommendation of Wick.’

‘Wick?’ Lily looked back down the table, and realised in her irritation she’d completely blanked whoever had handed her the Signet. Sure enough, there stood Wick the Ravenclaw Seventh Year - tall, quietly dapper in a waistcoat and white shirt, calm and collected at the periphery of the party. ‘Oh. Oops.’

But then Jack muttered, ‘Are you kidding me?’ and they looked to see Sirius Black swaggering up to the band of Ravenclaws, and immediately he dipped to kiss the back of Marlene’s hand. ‘What a pretentious tosspot.’

‘So much for Nathaniel playing host,’ Dory said.

Lily looked about the crowd, then spotted the group of Seventh Years by the fountain and sighed. ‘I think Nathaniel’s indisposed. He’s currently trying to drink a yard of _something_. That’d probably be why Marlene greeted us in the first place.’ Near Nathaniel and his friends, she spotted Pettigrew sidling up beside Cornelia Fletcher, and not-too-subtly palm her some coins. Yet again, she tried to not groan. Of _course_ Fletcher had orchestrated the music and light-show of the Marauders’ arrival. At least, she supposed, she had the dignity to be paid for the effort.

Jack brightened a little. ‘Looks like Marlene’s too busy for me to apologise to her, though.’

‘Not so fast, Chuckles,’ said Dory. ‘I’ll get Sirius away. Then you go play nice. I’d like to be invited to these things again.’

‘How is that _my_ problem?’

‘More importantly,’ said Lily, ‘how’re you going to do _that_? Good luck getting a girl out of Black’s sights.’

‘It’s fine, he owes me a rematch of a drinking competition after last year’s Quidditch final.’ Dory shrugged. ‘I’ll just tell everyone he’s a pansy if he doesn’t think he can out-drink little old me.’

‘You had a _drinking competition_ in the _common room_ -’

‘This is the _opposite_ of unclenching! And it’s not like we fed Firewhiskey to First Years, so I don’t know why you’re slugging single malt here and _bitching_ at me!’

Lily glared, and poured herself some whiskey. ‘This is classier.’

‘Enjoy your classy hangover. Chuckles, hand me that,’ said Dory, retrieving the bottle she’d first poured hers and Lily’s drinks from. ‘And you better not chicken out. When this goes inevitably wrong, remember: I died as I lived.’

‘Faintly pickled?’ Lily wondered as Dory swanned off into the crowd, making a bee-line for Black and the Ravenclaws. But she had to subside, and took a sip of her whiskey. ‘I guess you _have_ to go apologise to Marlene now.’

Jack looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. ‘There ain’t no way this is a win for _me_ , is there?’

She nudged him with her elbow. ‘Hey. I think Dory’s as much of an outcast as us right now. Let’s take all this in the spirit it’s intended, and build some bridges. Not _burn_ them.’

‘Yeah.’ His scowl deepened as he watched Black and Dory detach from the group of Ravenclaws. Arms waving wildly, Black in a moment had summoned Potter, who carried armfuls of bottles. ‘You _really_ don’t like them.’

Lily blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. ‘They annoy me.’

‘No shit.’

‘They -’ She gritted her teeth, then waved a hand at the small crowd beginning to cluster where Dory and Black’s competition was starting up. ‘Okay, imagine I held a party with alcohol in my common room?’ Jack looked impassive, and she sighed. ‘Imagine _you_ held a party with alcohol in your common room.’

‘Sure.’

‘Except we wouldn’t. Because if a teacher caught us, we’d be strung up. Because if the wrong person took umbrage, we’d be screwed. Because - because they’re a pair of pure-blood brats and their tagalongs who don’t know how bloody _lucky_ they are, who could get away with _murder_ just because of _who_ they are! If you or I or - or Mary or Wick or any other Muggle-born did _half_ the shit they do, sucked up _half_ the attention they do, we’d be painting bullseyes on ourselves, and half the bloody teachers wouldn’t lift a finger to keep us safe!’

Jack’s expression remained flat, and Lily fell silent, chest heaving at the sudden outburst. The sentiment wasn’t new, but it wasn’t one she’d expressed very often. Nobody wanted to hear criticisms of the beloved James Potter, and certainly not over and over again. And saying it to Severus tended to set him off for hours, when she preferred to not think about the Marauders that often. Now she was left wondering if she’d gone too far, if Jack quite liked them or thought her overly emotional or fussy.

Instead, he just lifted his tankard and clinked it against her whiskey. ‘Fuckin’ rich kids, huh?’

A slow smile stole across her lips. ‘Exactly.’

Not that she was poor. But she wasn’t rich, and she was still a Muggle-born. She suspected Jack’s sentiment was more important than the particulars, and felt a sudden rush of sympathy for this dour, scowling, violent boy of few words, who’d clearly stumbled from a London council estate at the bottom of British society, and into Hogwarts at the bottom of wizarding society.

‘Same shit, different world, huh,’ she had to muse, but nudged him again before he could answer. ‘But Marlene’s nice and I think you did offend her, and look, she’s on her own now; she hasn’t gone to watch the drinking. She’s not even drinking. I bet she’s only here because Nathaniel won’t make sure things don’t get out of hand. Go talk to her.’

Jack finally winced. ‘About Herbology?’

‘You could apologise, too.’ Lily shrugged. ‘But it’s a start.’

That had been, she reflected once Jack was heading off in Marlene’s direction, a little cruel. It was entirely for her and Dory’s benefit, because they were on rocky enough ground with the rest of the school that it didn’t help them to bring Jack to the party so he could insult everyone. Manners demanded she push him.

Manners also demanded she didn’t blatantly run away when James Potter came hurrying over to the drinks table. ‘Out the way, contest needs more supplies -’ And he stopped short at the sight of her. ‘ _Evans_? What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here? Drinking - _whiskey_?’

That Potter had every reason to be surprised she was at a rowdy party was entirely beside the point. She sipped her drink and stuck her nose in the air. ‘Watching you make a fool of yourself, as per usual, Potter.’

He looked down at himself, arms spread out, feigning bewilderment. ‘I thought I was being positively suave tonight.’

‘With that ridiculous arrival? _Really_?’

Potter grinned a toothy grin. ‘The crowd loved it.’

She couldn’t dispute that. So she stepped aside to not block his access to the drinks, in the hope he’d go away sooner, and said, ‘ _I_ thought it was silly.’

‘What fun things,’ he said, going to the table and gathering bottles, ‘ _don_ _’t_ you think are silly, Evans? I thought you’d explode if you came near festivities.’

‘Evidently not, but it’s still unclear if _you_ explode if you’re not the centre of attention for five minutes.’

He gestured with a flourish towards Dory and Black’s drinking competition. ‘I’m but a humble servant to Sirius’ inevitable defeat of Meadowes, as you see. I’m _quite_ capable of sacrificing for others. Whereas you’d need others to associate with in the first place, let alone sacrifice _for_.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not alone. I was just refilling my drink.’ She waved down the drinks table and hoped he wouldn’t notice she was nowhere near the bottles of whiskey. ‘So I’d better get back to my _lovely_ conversation with Wick, hadn’t I?’

Potter looked where she’d waved, and his expression pinched. ‘That’s got to be _riveting_.’

Lily considered drawing some comparison between Wick and Potter, or attacking his choice of raucous, ridiculous diversions. Instead she decided to be petty and said, ‘I hope Dory throws up on you.’ Then she left, returning to where the bottles sat next to her fellow whiskey drinker she’d so rudely ignored. Unsurprisingly, Potter didn’t follow, but she felt his eyes on her back for a moment before he returned to the drinking contest.

‘I didn’t thank you,’ she said to Wick, forgetting Potter and lifting her glass, ‘for the recommendation. It’s pretty good.’

Wick - only now did she realise she had no idea what his first name was - leaned against the table with studied indifference, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his own drink. Brown hair was artfully wavy, and only up close and properly paying attention did she realise how perfectly-pressed and tailored his clothes were. ‘It’s rather like a Glenlivet. I found it one of the more palatable wizarding whiskeys to start with. The rest are either cheap or _decidedly_ acquired tastes. It’s just like wizards to value _style_ over _substance._ ’ There was a definite polish to his diction, that hint of ‘rather’ being pronounced, ‘rahh-ther.’ After Jack’s south London accent, it sounded even smoother, even more pronounced, and she guiltily wondered if he’d heard her and Jack toast their disapproval of rich kids.

‘You didn’t come on your own, did you?’ she said instead, trying to press on.

‘Oh, no. McKinnon’s a good egg.’ Wick nodded towards where Nathaniel was now tilting the yard-horn of ale down the throat of a different Ravenclaw. ‘There’s only so much of these shenanigans a man can stand before he needs a breather, however.’

‘Then I’m not interrupting?’ Lily tried to smile. ‘I promise no shenanigans.’ Truth be told, she had nowhere else to _go_. She’d rather eat her glass than join Dory at the drinking game, couldn’t interrupt Jack, and while she had no doubt Mary and the other Gryffindor girls were here somewhere, she hadn’t spotted them.

‘I’d have let you drink the Old Beamish if I wanted you to go away. You’d never talk to me again for such an insult.’

‘It’s that bad?’

‘ _Very_ harsh.’ Wick sipped his drink. ‘I didn’t know this party was your sort of scene.’

From Potter, the comment had been bristling. From Wick, it was oddly flattering. Lily wasn’t aware a Seventh Year like him had any concept she _existed_ , let alone had a scene. ‘It was a last second sort of thing. Besides, it’s good to unwind; next year’s going to be busy enough.’

‘It shall. OWLs don’t have a patch on NEWTs, I’m afraid; you’re in for a whirlwind of a time. Oh, were you thinking of doing Muggle Studies?’

Studies. Those, she knew how to discuss. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t fancy another year of studying car engines.’

‘You didn’t hear? Bentley’s out. Professor Dearborn’s coming back to teach. I had him in third year; he’s _excellent_. I’d really recommend him.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s _actually_ interested in teaching Muggle society, culture.’ Wick’s eyes sparked. ‘He uses literature as a lens through which wizards can view Muggle society, instead of letting the Pure-bloods sit and snicker about how blasted silly a washing machine is. And not just Shakespeare; we did Hardy, Sassoon, Owen.’

‘Huh.’ Lily sipped her glass. ‘I’ll think about it.’

To her surprise, his cheeks coloured. ‘My apologies,’ said Wick. ‘I’m sure you didn’t come to a party to blather about studies.’

‘Actually, it’s not like I’ve kept track of Quidditch or even much of current affairs over summer. I’m happy to talk classes.’

He brightened. ‘A lady after my own heart. Or, perhaps, you’re just using me to get to the whiskey.’

She sipped her drink. ‘It’s very _good_ whiskey.’

_Is this flirting?_  
  
Wick glanced over at her. ‘I mean absolutely no offence, Lily, but I hadn’t anticipated a girl like you drinking single malt.’

‘I like to be surprising. But you’ve got me at a disadvantage.’ She tried to not look embarrassed. ‘I don’t know your first name.’

‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘I prefer it that way. It might make a hypocrite of me, but I’ve noticed it doesn’t go too well when a chap calls you “Evans” as he flirts with you.’

_Oh, he_ _’s definitely flirting._  
  
_Wait, who_ _’s calling me “Evans” as they flirt with me?_  
  
But before she could summon a response, Wick’s gaze flickered past her, and his expression fell. ‘Oh, bloody hell.’

And Lily turned to see the Slytherins had arrived.


	3. Cross-Fire Hurricane

  
**Cross-Fire Hurricane**   


_I was born in a cross-fire hurricane_  
 _And I howled at my ma in the driving rain,_  
 _But it_ _’s all right now, in fact, it’s a gas!_  
 _-_ _‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash,’ The Rolling Stones (1968)_

 

Jack wanted to shove his hands in his pockets, but he was holding a tankard of ale. So he lurched a bit lopsidedly when he got to Marlene McKinnon, on her own by the fountain. Black, Dory, Potter and the others still clung together a way off. There was the odd roar from the group, but she didn’t seem interested. And seemed perfectly happy alone. He almost turned away, but he knew Dory and Lily would yell at him if he didn’t make amends. 

‘Hey,’ he grunted. 

She spun, startled by his arrival. Pink spots rose to her cheeks again. ‘Um. Corrigan.’ 

He ran his hand through dark hair, mussing it. ‘Look. I didn’t mean nothing by earlier.’ That wasn’t strictly true. Girl like her probably had her whole life charted by her parents since she was little, with tutors and prospects hurled into her lap. But this was not the time for bitterness. ‘So, uh, sorry.’ 

Marlene wrapped her arms around herself and ducked her head. A lock of blonde hair, loose from its tie, dropped into her face. ‘Um, that’s quite alright. It’s a party. Spirits are high.’ 

There was a roar from the clump of drinkers. Jack looked over to see Dory slamming a shot glass back. ‘They really are.’ 

Silence reigned. He took a big gulp from his tankard. Silence still reigned. ‘Well,’ he started. ‘I -’ 

‘You said you were taking Herbology,’ Marlene blurted. She was obviously just desperate to say _something_. ‘You’re taking Potions, too, then; I mean, that’s what I was saying, that you really need to take _both_ if you’re serious about Potions…’ 

‘Sure,’ said Jack. ‘I do Potions.’ Or, he’d thought about doing Potions. It was easier to agree. ‘You really gotta, don’t you?’ 

‘Absolutely!’ She brightened. ‘I know there are people who _won_ _’t_ , but they won’t be able to do anything of value with their Potions NEWT afterwards without Herbology. There’s too much relationship between the subjects; if you really want to understand the important properties of reagents, you have to study _those_ , too, and only Herbology does that especially in-depth.’ 

He sipped his drink and nodded. ‘Yeah.’ 

‘Of course, the _really_ determined should be taking Astronomy, because there are so many potions which must be brewed under the right astrological conditions and herbs gathered under the right stars.’ She gestured lots as she spoke, like hands were needed for sentences. It was distracting. ‘I mean, if you’re only intending on buying the right reagents from a shop, you don’t need Herbology or Astronomy, but then you might as well buy a _potion_ from a shop and -’ Marlene stopped, dropping her hands. Colour returned to her cheeks, and Jack had to sip his drink again to hide his expression. But then she frowned. ‘You’re mocking me.’ 

‘I - what?’ 

‘I’m sorry, I know I blather on; Dorothy tells me so _all_ the time.’ 

‘Yeah, but…’ Jack paused. This conversation was getting away from him. ‘Baddock ain’t here.’ 

‘Did someone put you up to this? Is Nathaniel taking bets on how long I can go without breathing?’ 

‘I don’t -’ 

She turned to him, challenging. ‘You’ve hardly said a _word_.’ 

He worked his jaw. _I couldn_ _’t get a word in edge-ways._ Then someone walked up and he felt his hackles rise. 

‘McKinnon, great party.’ Amycus Carrow was like the human version of a punch to the face and about as good looking. ‘Didn’t think you had this sort of thing in you.’ 

Marlene’s gaze turned from suspicious of Jack to suspicious of Carrow, and Jack watched as her shoulders hunched in. He knew that kind of stance - defensive, protective. Ready for an attack. ‘You mean fun, Amycus? Well, this is Nathaniel’s party, but if I _were_ in the business of organising fun, it certainly wouldn’t be _your_ sort of fun.’ 

‘And what’s your sort of fun?’ Carrow had, Jack thought, the build of the burly but inbred: big shoulders but a weak chin and narrow, piggy eyes. ‘We could get a book club going.’ 

‘Oi,’ said Jack, stepping in. Then he realised he had to look up to meet the gaze of Carrow, bigger and older than him, and wondered what he was going to do next. ‘You can piss off any time, you know.’ 

Carrow didn’t so much as flinch. He looked around Jack and raised an eyebrow at Marlene. ‘Or this is the company you’d prefer? The unwashed Mudblood?’ 

Jack had once punched Osmund Flint just for saying the word. But that was three years ago, and he’d have probably been expelled by now if he punched everyone who said it. These days, all the word did was tumble into something vast, empty, and bitter inside him, landing at the bottom with a _clunk_. 

But he remembered. 

‘We,’ said Marlene, stepping around Jack to point a finger at Carrow, ‘were having a _lovely_ conversation, and really, if this isn’t your kind of party you don’t _have_ to be here -’ 

‘I thought better of your family, is all.’ 

Jack planted a hand on Carrow’s shoulder. ‘I think it’s clear she don’t want to talk.’ 

Carrow sneered and shrugged it off. ‘I just had these robes _cleaned_.’ 

For just a moment, Jack paused. Then he thought, _fuck it_ , and punched Amycus Carrow in the face. 

It was a good blow, a solid blow. Carrow clearly didn’t know how to take a punch, his head whipping around as he staggered back. The impact shot up Jack’s knuckles, sparking with both pain and satisfaction. And everyone who hadn’t paid attention to Amycus Carrow insulting him and Marlene was _now_ looking over. 

Carrow clutched his jaw and recovered his balance. ‘You piece of shit,’ he hissed. ‘You Mu-’ 

Jack stepped forward, fist clenched. ‘Was I unclear?’ 

Marlene moved around him, hands flapping. ‘Let’s not, um - please don’t -’ 

But then Carrow went for his wand, and Jack remembered he was an underage Muggle-born picking a fight with a seventeen year-old pure-blood. It wasn’t a fast draw, or a fast incantation, but there wasn’t much Jack could do before magic thudded into his gut and sent him flying. 

The spell to his stomach was enough to set all his nerves on fire, but hitting the ground sent them dead. Wind knocked out of him, limbs refusing to obey, he landed with a grunt and went limp. 

‘Amycus!’ Jack struggled to look up. Sirius Black slung his arm over Amycus Carrow’s shoulder, and Jack’s urge to vomit worsened. 

But then Marlene was over him, hands flapping in worry. ‘Are you alright? He got you badly then -’ 

The last thing he wanted was to be fussed over after a sucker-spell from a would-be Death Eater. Jack shoved himself to his knees. ‘I’m _fine_ ,’ he snarled. 

A look of hurt crossed Marlene’s face, and she pulled back. ‘Of course,’ she said, crestfallen. ‘Sorry.’ 

But beyond her, Black still had his arm around Carrow, who just looked confused. ‘That was some _nice_ spellwork, Amycus,’ Black was saying, voice far too sing-song to be sincere. ‘Did you practice Stunning unarmed men? I suppose it’ll be good practice for when you’re going for Muggles next year.’ 

‘You missed him _punching_ me?’ 

‘Oh, no, but you do have one of those faces, Amycus. You must forgive a spot of punching here and there. And from what I saw, you were insulting the lady.’ Black looked from Carrow to Marlene, and Jack watched as his expression turned soft. ‘Are you okay?’ 

Marlene had her arms wrapped around herself, and Jack remembered only now that sometimes even bystanders were rattled when he got angry and punchy. She gave a silent nod. 

Black nodded back, all understanding sympathy. His gaze hardened when it returned to Carrow. ‘This is a nice party. You should try to get along with people, Amycus. Oh, and don’t hex people who can’t hex you back; that’s just _unsporting_ , don’t you think?’ 

They’d picked up a bit of an audience by now. Jack looked around the crowd to see more than a few familiar faces. Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew stood not that far behind Black, obviously ready to back him up. Likewise, the commotion had brought over Mulciber, Avery, and Carrow’s sister. 

It was Mulciber who moved first, a single step enough to bring all eyes to him. Where Carrow was big, Randal Mulciber was bigger - but toned, carrying his muscle with purpose. There was no upper-crust sneer when he spoke, just a clear, firm voice. ‘Amycus. Let’s not ruin the party. Besides.’ Mulciber looked from Black to Marlene. ‘They’re blood-traitors both. Their time will come.’ 

Black dropped the arm around Amycus to check his wrist-watch. ‘Let me know when; my schedule’s _mad_ busy.’ 

But Carrow muttered something venomous and slunk over to join his Slytherin friends, who drifted off into the crowd, and like that, the spell of the moment was broken. Somewhere in the background, Wagtail got back to playing music, Fletch had fixed the lights back on the party, and it was as if the confrontation hadn’t even happened. There were still plenty of people to see, though, when Black headed over to Jack and stuck out a helping hand. ‘You okay? That was a dick move -’ 

He stood on his own, jaw tight. ‘I’m fine.’ 

Black’s expression didn’t shift. ‘Sure. Remind me to duck if I piss you off sometime.’ 

‘I don’t need your fucking charity, pure-blood,’ Jack said, and left before he could make the situation worse. It got worse of its own accord when he couldn’t help but notice Black swagger over to Marlene behind him, like a conquering hero or knight in shining armour. He didn’t raise his head until he joined the crowd, only to be pounced on either side by Lily and Dory. 

Are you okay?’ Dory asked in a hurry. 

‘Oh, I’m fuckin’ spectacular, me.’ 

‘I mean, who wouldn’t be,’ said Lily, pressing a fresh tankard into his hand. ‘Apologising turned into losing a fight with a fascist, and then getting saved by Sirius Black -’ 

‘When anyone asks me what you’re like, Lily,’ said Jack, ‘you know what I’ll say?’ 

She gave him a self-aware smile he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with. ‘That I’m unfailingly kind?’ 

‘That’s _exactly_ where I were going with that.’ 

Then Jack almost walked into a shadow, and her smile died like the lights going out. ‘Severus.’ 

Snape had appeared out of the crowd as if from nowhere, black-robed, long hair a mess, sour expression for once looking what Jack would even call desperate. ‘Lily - we have to talk, Lily -’ 

Jack felt her tense beside him as she said, ‘There’s nothing more to _say_ , Severus. We’re done.’ 

‘That can’t be -’ 

‘Did you want me to punch this berk, too?’ Jack offered. 

Snape’s gaze turned to him with a hint of a sneer, but Lily spoke quickly. ‘That’s okay, Jack. Severus was just leaving.’ 

‘You need to _listen_ to me -’ 

‘I’m _done_!’ Lily snapped. ‘I listened to your excuses, Severus, for _years_! Now _you_ need to bloody well listen to _me_ , and stay the hell away!’ 

Dory’s head popped around the other side of Lily. ‘You also need to listen to me: did you know over-washing your hair can actually make it _more_ greasy?’ 

Jack sipped his ale. ‘I don’t reckon that’s his problem.’ 

‘Also, try not using a conditioner; if you just shampoo _twice_ that can make a world of difference.’ 

Lily smiled at Snape, but it was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I think we’re done here,’ she said, and turned to head off into the crowd. 

‘We are,’ Dory agreed, but paused for just a moment to add to the befuddled Snape, ‘Try a lemon shampoo.’ 

Jack waited a heartbeat more, and tried his own smile. He felt it come out more forced and unpleasant, and was okay with that. ‘And if you keep following her around, I _will_ knock you spark out, Sunshine.’ 

Snape looked ready to sneer again, but he’d been beaten about the head too soundly by Lily and Dory both to be quick with a comeback, and Jack followed them before he could say anything. 

Dory had slipped her arm in Lily’s, weaving enough as she walked that this didn’t just look like a companionable act. ‘You had the _nicest_ friends, Red.’ 

‘Then it’s just as well,’ said Lily, grabbing Jack by the sleeve once he’d caught up, ‘that you two had my back there.’ She looked up at him. ‘Sorry I wasn’t faster with Carrow.’ 

Jack made a face. ‘S’alright. Didn’t really want saving by you.’ Then he saw her look of hurt, and remembered the outburst at the Great Lake last summer; remembered the encounter with her, Potter, Snape. ‘I mean - sorry. Didn’t want to be saved by _anyone_ , did I? I don’t like needing saving from those dickheads.’ It was easier to say sorry to Lily than it had been to Marlene. Probably because he didn’t feel burning resentment in his gut for Lily. 

‘It’s not,’ Lily agreed. ‘Though I’m impressed you managed to be even _nastier_ to Marlene.’ 

Then Dory snorted. ‘I think she’s distracted enough to forget the whole thing.’ 

Jack turned and followed her gaze into the crowd, and within moments saw Black with Marlene. She was blushing and laughing, he was leaning against the fountain and in towards her, grinning that toothy grin of his. His cronies were nowhere in sight, probably off causing mayhem somewhere else in the party. And she couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

‘That’s going to suck,’ Dory continued, ‘seeing as Baddock has the most _insane_ crush on Black.’ 

Jack couldn’t give less of a toss right then about Ravenclaw girl politics. He looked down at his tankard, then drained it. ‘How far did you even _get_ drinking with Black, Dory?’ 

Her eyes were unfocused but she was still mostly steady on her feet. ‘Only about half a bottle. Then your punching was all loud enough to get his attention, and it’s not like Sirius will pass on the chance to show off for a girl…’ 

‘Well, those two deserve each other. Where’s Wick?’ 

Lily went a bit pink. ‘I left him when I saw the fight start. He went to help Nathaniel, who I think has remembered to be a responsible host and is watching the Slytherins.’ 

Dory brightened. ‘Wick was _totally_ flirting.’ 

‘Maybe.’ She bit her lip. ‘But he’s gone, probably for the rest of the night, so it doesn’t really matter.’ 

‘So Chuckles got hexed and insulted our host _twice_. Red made headway with a bloke only to let him slip through her fingers. And I failed to get soused with Sirius Black, which _really_ takes effort. Do I know how to take you to a killer party, or _what_? Come on.’ Dory tried to lead them back towards the drinks table. ‘I have a plan.’ 

Plans turned into more drinks - average wizarding Firewhiskey, slugged from shot glasses instead of sipped over ice. 

‘So you actually _do_ do Herbology,’ Lily was slurring a while later, pushing his arm. ‘Didn’t expect it.’ 

‘What,’ said Jack, and slammed back another shot, ‘didn’t expect me to know stuff?’ 

‘No!’ exclaimed Lily at about the same time Dory shrugged and said, ‘Yeah, pretty much.’ 

‘Just ‘cos I dress like this and punch dickhead pure-bloods and flip off the teachers and once burnt an essay for McGonagall…’ His voice trailed off. ‘Where was I?’ 

‘Defending,’ declared Dory, ‘your academic credentiabilities.’ 

‘That ain’t a fuckin’ word.’ 

‘I don’t think you got the academic credentiabilities to disprove me.’ 

‘I’m good with _stuff_ , you know. Potions, Herbology, all that. Fuck Transfig, but if it’s a _thing_ an’ it’s in _front_ of me, I get it. You know?’ 

Lily nodded. ‘I get that.’ 

Dory swatted her on the arm. ‘You read something and five seconds later you’re a bloody master, Red. Leave some smarts for the rest of us.’ Then it was a round of fags, and Jack knew he’d have to pick up a fresh pack of Silk Cut before Wednesday, but for once he didn’t begrudge sharing, and Dory was topping up their glasses anyway. 

The party showed no sign of stopping by eleven. Fletch’s lights were starting to sway and change colours in a way Jack hoped was intentional. Myron Wagtail had just finished one of Taliesin’s first songs when Lily bounced to her feet, smoke in one hand, Firewhiskey in the other. 

‘Right!’ she declared. Then ruined the effect by stopping to finish her drink. ‘Dancing! And not to this magic crap!’ 

Jack lurched to his feet. ‘You think Wagtail _knows_ any proper music?’ 

The argument with the band, once pounced between songs, was not brief. 

‘The _who_?’ 

‘Yeah,’ said Jack happily. ‘ _Exactly_.’ 

Lily swatted his arm and tried her best smile on Wagtail. ‘What about Cream?’ 

‘Ugh,’ said Jack. ‘Not fuckin’ _Cream_.’ 

‘I thought they might know something a bit older, and what’s wrong with Cream?’ 

‘You know who’s wrong with it.’ 

Lily peered. ‘That’s a terrible and confusing thing to say.’ 

He groaned. ‘Nothing’s wrong with _most_ of Cream, but you heard about that concert in Birmingham -’ 

Dory, who had been quiet in the musical argument by then, leaned around the bickering twosome and said to Wagtail, ‘Just play some bloody Beatles.’ 

That worked. 

‘And the _best_ thing,’ Lily said three songs later, once she’d got her breath back, ‘is that playing Muggle music’s like a litmus test for who the racist fuckheads are.’ 

When they’d first got there, only half the courtyard was used for dancing. As the night went on, the dance floor became most anywhere outside that wasn’t the drinks table, and the latest performance from Wagtail, Burke and Dobbs had been like a shot of adrenaline in the party’s veins. The drinking competition that-was had fallen into the crowds, Pettigrew bewilderingly surrounded by more women than any of his three friends. Fletch’s posse was in the middle, Hargreaves dancing a storm with two seventh-year Gryffindor guys on either side of her. Faces Jack had barely paid attention to in past years swirled around him, strung together by the music, the beat, the high spirits. 

Not that _everyone_ was dancing. But as Jack looked at the outskirts, looked for who seemed disapproving or outright angry, he realised Lily was right. Almost. ‘Best thing, actually,’ he said, ‘is that playing our music _pisses them off_.’ 

She grinned, he grinned, then Wagtail’s projected voice swum over them. ‘And I’m _betting_ you’ve got more requests.’ 

Dory thrust her hands in the air. ‘ _Freebird_!’ 

That was ignored, but then Black bounced up to the stage. He whispered something in Wagtail’s ear, and a few seconds later Jack recognised the first notes of ‘Paint it Black.’ 

‘What can I say?’ Black boomed as he bounded back into the swirling, dancing masses to return to dancing with Marlene. Jack hadn’t thought a girl like her danced much. Not that he’d thought much about it anyway. ‘It’s my theme song!’ 

Jack looked at his two friends. ‘Did Sirius Black just go and request the Rolling Stones?’ 

Dory laughed. ‘I guess Mary was a good influence on him.’ 

‘And I guess we know two things,’ said Lily. ‘ _Not_ a racist fuckhead, and not a _complete_ poser with that jacket. But don’t worry. Yours is cooler, Jack.’ 

A cooler jacket. And there was good music, and two new friends, and Jack wasn’t even sure what time he made it home. It was long after midnight before the party started to break up, and he definitely sat with Lily and Dory by the drinks table, telling embarrassing stories from before Hogwarts, cracking through more Firewhiskey. But eventually Nathaniel started to urge people off, and the Knight Bus was summoned for almost all of the under-age kids at the party to tumble aboard. They packed in like tinned sardines, but Dory was quick enough to snatch them a bench, and all three squeezed onto it. By the time the Knight Bus was pulling up at Cokeworth, he had to nudge Lily awake after she’d found a spike-less part of his shoulder to fall asleep on, and when she stumbled off into the streets, he knew the evening was really over. A good evening - a better evening than he’d expected when Dory showed up at his door at least eight hours ago. 

It might not be a shitty, lonely year to come.


	4. The Boys Are Back in Town

_Guess who just got back today?_   
_Those wild-eyed boys that had been away._   
_-_ _‘The Boys Are Back in Town,’ Thin Lizzy (1976)_

 

‘You _cannot_ wear that,’ Sirius’ mother said, not for the first time. 

He only grinned and turned up the collar on his leather jacket. He’d had to walk from Diagon to Camden to get it, after figuring out how much money to swap. He wished it were a bit more worn, a bit more beaten, but it still smelled new, at least. ‘Bit late for that, Mum.’ He wasn’t wrong. They were already onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Normally he couldn’t be this outright disobedient, but he was about to leave them for four months. What could they do to him? 

Regulus snorted. ‘You look ridiculous.’ 

‘Your judgement, little brother, only inspires me.’ Sirius looked away from them, across the bustling platform towards the gleaming, steaming Hogwarts Express. Soon it would be leaving. Soon he would be free. 

Walburga drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what -’ 

‘Dear.’ That was his father, tall and austere and lingering at the back with the utmost calm indifference. ‘Save your breath. It’s a waste on him.’ 

Grinning was Sirius’ best response to his father calling him a waste of oxygen. ‘Does that mean I can go? So you can fuss over Regulus? So he can be the centre of your world?’ 

‘ _Regulus_ ,’ said Walburga, ‘has become a Slytherin prefect. You couldn’t even earn the badge in Gryffindor.’ 

Regulus puffed out his chest. ‘Yeah, they made _Lupin_ prefect, and he’s only a half-blood. And Severus thinks -’ 

‘Oh, _boy_ , if _Severus_ thinks something I _really_ want to hear it.’ The last thing anyone needed was Sirius’ parents latching onto Snape’s suspicions. Nobody listened to Snape. People still had to listen to Orion and Walburga Black. It had taken Sirius years to learn how to ignore them. ‘But _speaking_ of Remus, I spot someone I actually want to spend time with.’ He stepped away from the gathering of his family, began to forge into the crowds, and gave them only the briefest of waves. ‘Bye. Try to not trip over Kreacher and fall down the stairs!’ 

He didn’t look back. Looking back did nobody good under the best of circumstances, and he had something to look forward to, anyway. 

‘ _Moony_!’ 

Sirius sometimes wondered if Remus found it easier to be at home; he didn’t have to hide anything there, ever. But then, at home he didn’t have his friends - and Sirius knew all the stresses of Hogwarts were worth it, just for the way Remus’ eyes brightened when he spotted him. 

‘Pads. Still wearing this ridiculous thing? Aren’t your parents _beside_ themselves?’ He tugged on the sleeve of the leather jacket. 

‘Like I listen to them.’ 

‘Like you listen to _anyone_.’ Remus beamed anyway. 

‘We gotta be free agents, Moony.’ Sirius slung his arm over Remus’ shoulder as they rattled across the platform towards the train. ‘Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are _ours_.’ 

Remus looked as apprehensive as Sirius’ good moods ever made him. ‘You do know NEWTs are going to be harder than OWLs -’ 

‘Which is why we take Transfig. I bet I already know more than McGonagall.’ He still didn’t look back towards his family. By now, his brother would be slinking over to Crouch and Rosier and his friends, already starting the sneering, the superiority; already scrabbling for approval - 

So his mind sheered away from that, like it always did. He couldn’t stop Regulus. He couldn’t control him, or even reach out to him. All he could think about was the here and now. 

‘I’m quite sure that’s not true,’ Remus was saying. ‘Did you even reach a conclusion in your careers meeting?’ 

‘You bet I did.’ Sirius swept his fingers through his hair, and then paused to pose, fist against his hip. ‘Sirius Black, professional heart-breaker.’ 

Remus gave him that even, unimpressed look which never successfully deflated him. ‘I don’t think Marlene’s going to pay you for the privilege. Or Nathaniel, for that matter.’ 

‘Marlene’s smart. She knows the score, knows it’s not serious, and if she doesn’t, I’ll speak plain. Be firm, be honest, be fair. That’s how I work. It was a party; fun happens at parties. She’s cute. I’m gorgeous, what was the problem?’ 

Remus stopped at the door to the train, ushering him up first. ‘Remind me; has Marlene ever had a boyfriend?’ 

‘Not that I remember.’ Sirius jumped up, and helped Remus with his trunk. ‘Why?’ 

‘No reason. So there’s no problem.’ 

He sounded a mixture of innocent and long-suffering. Sirius knew this would some day end in the words, _I told you so_ , so he ignored it, and led them trundling down the narrow corridors of the Express. ‘Still a few weeks, eh?’ 

‘A few weeks until - oh.’ Remus’ voice dropped. ‘Yes, _thank_ you for reminding me.’ 

‘Don’t be like that, Moony!’ Sirius glanced over his shoulder. ‘It’s better these days. We’ll all be together.’ 

To his surprise, Remus’ eyes did brighten, and Sirius felt a stab of guilt. They had only mastered their forms the previous April, only had a handful of full moons out together in the Forbidden Forest - and then summer. Summer, of Remus at home and alone during the transformation, enough for the better times to become a hazy, bitter memory, enough for the lines to sink back into the corners of his eyes and grey to already sneak like a thief in the light-brown at his temples. 

But Remus nodded. ‘Yes. All together. Look, we’ll find James and Pete and I’ll dump my trunk, but I’d better be off to the prefect carriage.’ 

‘Yes, you _must_ hear the reinforcement of _law and order_.’ Sirius thumped on his chest. ‘Fun will be _structured_! All will march in line with Abernathy’s shocking incompetence!’ 

‘Professor Abernathy isn’t _that_ bad -’ 

‘He’s so bad he inspires Hufflepuffs to whole new levels of duff-ness. If the man had an opinion other than _toe the party line_ , I think he’d have to give _himself_ detention.’ Sirius rolled his eyes. ‘I mean, maybe McGonagall’s surgically inserted that _spine_ -’ 

‘Sirius!’ Marlene McKinnon bounced down the corridor towards him, all nervous sunny smiles that were like harbingers of Remus’ ‘ _I told you so_ ,’ as sure as thunder heralded the storm. 

‘Hey, Marlene!’ His voice came out _too_ pleased, _too_ eager, even if he could hear the strangled tone at the edge. 

She slid to a stop, winding blonde locks nervously around a finger, eyes bright and wide as she looked up at him. ‘Hey, so - you had a good summer? I mean, of course you did, we talked about that Saturday, and things probably didn’t go downhill _that_ much _that_ quick - unless they did -’ 

Sirius wasn’t sure she was going to stop for breath, but then Remus appeared at his shoulder. Smugness oozed off him, even if he was nothing but calm and friendly when he mercifully cut her off. ‘Hello, Marlene.’ 

She beamed at him more than Sirius thought was strictly necessary. ‘ _Hey_ , Remus, you’ll be going up front soon?’ 

‘Just dropping off my trunk.’ Remus looked between them. ‘Which I’ll go do. Now. Because there’s no problem.’ 

_Traitor_ , Sirius hissed inside his head, but he hadn’t yet mastered the art of beaming his judgement straight into Remus’ brain. So Remus left, and Sirius stared at Marlene for a few long seconds before blurting, ‘It was a _great_ party.’ 

Again, she beamed. He didn’t think of Marlene as miserable, but she didn’t usually smile _this_ much. ‘It _was_. I wasn’t thrilled when Nathaniel dumped me with being responsible while he drank his bodyweight in mead, but - I mean, aside from the Slytherin invasion, which you handled _great_ , it was great. That is, I had fun. You had fun? Of course you did, you just said -’ She cut herself off while he was wondering if he could throw himself into the storm, and shook her head. ‘Did you want - could I - I mean, you want to see James and then I have to get to the prefects’ meeting but…’ 

‘We can meet up later, _yes_ ,’ said Sirius before he could stop himself. Her smile softened with what he realised was relief, tension inside her breaking, and then he was reaching out to give her arm a quick squeeze. ‘That’ll be great.’ 

‘Great,’ she repeated, and he wondered if that word was about to lose all meaning. But then she’d stepped forward to kiss him quickly, impulsively on the cheek, and - not wanting to be outdone - he tightened his grip and turned her face to his, kissed her on the lips, and let it linger before he let her go - 

And then Marlene was hurrying off down the corridor towards the prefects’ carriage and Sirius realised he’d _proper_ fucked that up. 

When he found his friends’ compartment, Remus was waiting for him. ‘I told you so,’ he said in a sing-song voice. 

Sirius looked around for support, but Peter wasn’t there, and James sat next to the window, chin propped up on his elbow, staring out at the platform. _Double traitor_! ‘She’s - Marlene’s - I re-evaluated.’ 

‘You firmly, honestly and fairly decided you want to tease along a nice, naive girl, because you don’t want to be the bad guy.’ Remus rolled his eyes and pinned his prefect’s badge onto his jacket, even if he wasn’t in uniform yet. ‘I’m not saving you when it goes wrong.’ 

‘I’m not afraid to be the bad guy,’ said Sirius, then imagined Marlene bursting into tears on him and knew he was lying. ‘It won’t go wrong.’ 

Remus patted him on the shoulder. ‘That’s what I like about you, Padfoot. You’re an optimist,’ he said, and turned for the door. ‘See you all later. Try to not break more hearts in my absence.’ 

Sirius shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and spent long seconds scowling and feeling sorry for himself. So Remus was long gone by the time he realised James hadn’t so much as looked at him. ‘Mate?’ 

James jerked as if startled, head snapping around - then he smiled, white teeth bright against dark skin. There was a forced, defensive quality to the grin, awfully reminiscent of Marlene’s. ‘Oh, hey. Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.’ He rubbed his eyes. 

‘Bullshit. What’s wrong?’ Sirius plonked himself down opposite, hands on his knees, gaze firm and refusing to back down _this_ time. 

So of course that was when Peter burst into the cabin. ‘What’s _up_ , party people?’ 

It wasn’t that Peter and James weren’t friends. Five years together, learning to be animagi together, surviving OWLs and pranks and corridor fights together made them as good as brothers, in Sirius’ book. But Peter wasn’t Sirius, so of course James’ expression snapped back to tight control, to a forced smile; of course the moment broke. It would have happened with Remus, too; with _anyone_ else. 

‘Oh, _man_ , this is going to be the _best_ year.’ Peter slung his trunk into the overhead rack without the slightest awareness of his blunder. ‘I refuse to get wound up about exams we’re not taking until the end of _seventh_ year. I think my eyes are still bleeding from OWL revision. It’s time to _enjoy_.’ 

Sirius grinned, because it was his job to take the heat off James while James got his face sorted. ‘Damn right. We get to sleep through Transfiguration.’ 

‘I know, right?’ Peter gave him a high five, and slouched onto the bench next to James. ‘ _And_ we’ll take the Quidditch Cup this year.’ Sirius realised he had to give Peter a little credit for picking up on James’ mood, though the effort to buoy him up couldn’t have been more transparent. 

And yet, it worked; the tension in the corners of James’ eyes cleared, and he straightened. ‘Slytherin,’ he proclaimed, ‘won’t know what hit them. Podmore was old-fashioned and rubbish; now I’m captain there are going to be _changes_. Such as “winning” and “players who know how to play”. Revolutionary thinking like that.’ 

‘They do say,’ Sirius agreed, ‘that it’s a time of revolution. I mean, Evans would lecture us about sweeping global issues, but I think “beat Slytherin” is the gist of it, right?’ 

‘What was she doing with _Corrigan_ at the party?’ Peter’s brow furrowed. ‘You think they’re a thing?’ 

‘What,’ scoffed Sirius, ‘with Dory as the third wheel?’ 

‘…maybe Evans and _Dory_ are a thing.’ 

James looked between them. ‘Guys. I’m past it. I’m immune to your wind-ups. I’m moving on. I’m in a new phase of my life; a phase where I don’t need to be shouted at to get my kicks.’ 

‘My _God_.’ Peter turned to Sirius, eyes wide with mock awe. ‘Has James… _given up_?’ 

Sirius clutched at his chest and rocked back on the bench. In the distance came the _hoot_ of the Express’ horn, and the platform began to lurch away past the window. ‘Her siren call of _cranky judgement_ has lost its power!’ 

‘I have more important stuff to focus on!’ said James with the slightest edge - which he then banished with a smirk. ‘Like, yeah. Quidditch Cup.’ Then he looked at Sirius, and his brow furrowed. ‘Did I hear you and Remus right? Are you and Marlene now a thing?’ 

Peter burst into a cackle at once. ‘Oh _no_ , Pads, did she lasso you?’ 

‘I like her!’ Sirius said hotly. ‘She’s funny. And kind of cute when she rambles. And -’ _And_ _I have no idea what I_ _’m doing._

James punched him on the knee. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’ 

Peter sobered, thoughtful. ‘ _Yeah,_ ’ he said, stretching the word out, ‘but girls like her - you know she’s going to latch onto you as the First Boyfriend and you’ll wind up buying her little teddy bears and chocolates and _we_ _’ll_ have to invest in vomit bags? What was wrong with Mary? Mary was _great_.’ 

‘She _was_ ,’ said James, looking reluctant. ‘She’s a devil with a Quaffle, laid-back, funny - what even happened with you two?’ 

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. ‘Our lives went in different directions.’ Technically, their lives were going in the exact same direction, but that was the problem and it wasn’t Sirius’ secret to tell. Not even to his best friends. ‘You know me. I can’t be tied down.’ 

‘So you decided to go out with Ravenclaw’s sweetest and most naive nerd, because she’s _exactly_ what you want if you’re being a free agent,’ Peter pointed out. 

_I may have miscalculated_. He could not, of course, admit that. ‘Since when do I take shit from you about girls?’ 

Peter winced. ‘Low blow.’ He looked at James. ‘So what’re we doing about Snivellus this year?’ 

It was a good change of topic, and James’ brow furrowed. ‘We’ve got to be careful. Since Evans kicked him to the curb, he’s been getting closer to Avery and Mulciber. So I expect him to try his luck _even more_ , only he’s going to be better defended.’ 

‘I have no problem tackling Mulciber’s mob.’ Sirius shrugged. ‘The more shitheads, the merrier.’ 

‘I’m going to be controversial,’ said James, lifting his hands. ‘And say we wait and see. He might disappear into the crowd and be one of their yes-men, another Flint, another Carrow.’ 

It had been years since they’d attacked Snape for the sake of it. The Great Lake incident had been part of the latest in a chain of hexes back and forth, usually behind backs and around corners, both factions slipping away before retaliation. A big confrontation had been inevitable, and the stress of exams had only made it worse. Nothing had happened since, which meant, so far as the Marauders were concerned, they’d won. 

‘After the party,’ said Sirius, ‘I think Mulciber’s a bigger problem. I actually agree.’ 

Peter mock-pouted. ‘Nothing for old times’ sakes?’ 

‘Don’t worry,’ sighed James, leaning back on the bench. ‘I get the feeling Snivellus will ask for it sooner or later.’ 

Sirius looked at the new lines on his face, the crease at the forehead as James’ eyes returned to the window. London would melt away soon, tall grey cityscape melting to rolling suburbs. Later would come the green fields, then the jagged peaks of the north creeping in. But that was for some time, and their reunions after summer didn’t usually lose momentum so quickly. Even waiting for Remus, there were always plans to make, stories to be told. 

'I didn't eat much breakfast,' Sirius blurted. 'Gonna go track down the trolley; she always starts at the front.' He gave James another pointed glance. 'Coming with?' 

James looked back, dubious. 'Nah, mate, I'll just wait.' 

Sirius sighed and stood, then tried to turn his pointed look on Peter, who perked up like he knew something was expected of him. 'Oh! Right! I'll have a pumpkin pastie, if you're getting.' 

_Not what I was trying for_. Sirius knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Peter might have been smart enough to pick up on James' mood, but it wouldn't occur to him to give them time alone to talk. He should have just badgered Peter into going to the snacks trolley and leaving them alone in the compartment. 

But it was too late for that kind of planning, which was how Sirius found himself going on a completely unnecessary snack run down the Hogwarts Express. It was the usual array of excitable reunions, nervous First Years, Seventh Years looking as if they might explode at their very last trip, but Sirius couldn't get James' frown out of his mind. Until, that was, he passed a compartment of giggles bursting out the open door, and someone called his name. 

He turned, grinning for his audience before he was even sure who they were. But the smile widened once he realised. 'Morning, ladies!' 

Mary Macdonald was still gigglng when she stood to give him a hug, and it was with relief that he returned the embrace. This was, he thought, how all breakups should go. 'Thought you were just going to walk past us.' 

'And how,' said Sirius, voice airy, 'could I possibly overlook the three of you?' 

Stacey and Tracy, the other two Gryffindor girls, elbowed each other, and Sirius tried to not look suspicious. He firmly believed there should be rules against girls who looked alike to have similar sounding names and hang out together. For half their first year, James had called them Blonde One and Blonde Two respectively, which coincidentally was the order Sirius went out with them in Fourth Year. 

Except Tracy laughed more and Stacey sometimes had a hard look to her blue eyes, like she did now when she said, 'So, Sirius, you and McKinnon…' 

'Merlin's tits, does everyone know?' he exclaimed before he could stop himself. 'I didn't even _see_ you three at the party!' 

'Mary didn't make it because her dad thinks the Knight Bus is creepy,’ said Tracy. ‘So we were inside playing drinking games with the Banes.’ 

Sirius gave Mary a look. ‘Your dad thinks lots of things are creepy,’ he said, though couldn’t keep the concern out of his gaze. 

‘Not everything.’ She turned her nose skyward, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips, brightening her light eyes. She was always too expressive, too jubilant to be coy about anything for long, for her heart to be anywhere but on her sleeve. ‘He’s letting me keep the motorbike.’ 

His jaw dropped. ‘I thought Muggles didn’t let you drive until you’re of-age -’ 

‘They _don_ _’t_ ,’ Mary almost squealed, ‘but I can drive it on the farm, can’t I; private property -’ 

‘This is great,’ said Stacey, sounding like it was anything but and probably tired of the umpteenth telling of the bike, ‘but _what about Sirius and Marlene_?’ 

‘Dorothy Baddock,’ said Tracy, ‘is going to kill you both.’ 

Sirius paused, wondering if Tracy meant him and Mary or him and Marlene. Then he wondered what he’d done to upset Dorothy Baddock in the first place. ‘ _Why_?’ 

Tracy and Stacey exchanged looks, doing that female hive-mind thing that always weirded him out, but Mary took pity and patted him on the arm. ‘Baddock’s had a crush on you since _forever_ , Sirius.’ 

‘Yeah, but…’ He gawped. ‘She’s Marlene’s best friend. She’ll understand.’ Then they were laughing, and he folded his arms across his chest, as if it could protect his wounded pride. ‘She won’t understand.’ 

‘I get why you left him, Mary,’ said Stacey, shaking her head. ‘He does _not_ get women.’ 

Mary gave him an apologetic look, but Sirius aped an idiotic smile. ‘You have tricky ways and secrets,’ he agreed, flashing Mary a wink once Stacey and Tracy were laughing again. ‘And I was on a mission, ladies. I’ll see you at the feast.’ 

Not that he was really that desperate for the snack cart, but he was getting the sneaking impression he’d just fallen face-first into the pit of Hogwarts gossip. 

So he was quite relieved, really, when he opened the door to the next carriage and almost walked smack into Remus. He clutched his arms. ‘Remus! Help! _Everyone knows_!’ 

Remus rocked back, not in the slightest prepared for this tackling. ‘Sirius - what -’ 

‘About me and Marlene!’ 

Lily Evans’ head stuck out from behind Remus, eyes narrow. ‘Black. You snogged her senseless in the middle of the party. What, did you think you were _subtle_?’ 

Sirius dropped his hands, deflating. ‘Oh, Evans. I’m so glad you’re here; everyone’s having too much fun about this at my expense and - you hate fun, don’t you? So you can stop this!’ 

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Just for you, Black, I’m going to make an exception. Fun can reign. I’ll be the Fun Queen.’ 

‘When you’re the Fun Queen, your kingdom will turn to ash and bone. Aren’t you running along after Snivellus yet?’ 

Remus made a small noise of objection, but he’d never been good at stopping Sirius and James and today was clearly not the day of change. Lily rolled her eyes. ‘No, I’m going to go sit with Dory and Jack.’ 

‘Jack Corrigan. Good choice.’ Sirius gave her a thumbs-up. ‘An upgrade from a greasy fascist to a punk-rock thug.’ 

She looked his too-new leather jacket up and down. ‘Better than a punk-rock poser.’ 

Remus gave a desperate clearing of the throat. ‘Shall we go?’ 

‘ _Yes_.’ Sirius turned back to him. ‘I’m worried about James.’ 

‘Did he not return your Valentine’s card?’ Lily muttered, but these were her parting words as she pressed down the carriage. 

Sirius ignored her. ‘I mean it, Remus. He’s dour, he’s sulking. He barely wanted to torment Snape this year.’ 

‘Not wanting to torment Snape isn’t a sign something’s wrong,’ Remus pointed out, waiting until Lily was long gone to follow in her wake. ‘It’s _possible_ he’s realised you _both_ have better things to do with your time -’ 

‘Look, while James and I falling into the desolate wastelands of maturity would be the sort of grim fate some Renaissance painter would dedicate a whole bloody chapel’s ceiling to, that’s _not_ what I’m worried about. I know James. Something’s wrong.’ 

Remus frowned. ‘Alright. We’ll see. But he might just be tired, Sirius, honestly -’ 

And Remus opened the door to their carriage to be greeted by a billowing of green smoke. 

It wasn’t a dungbomb. Sirius was a connoisseur of dungbombs; he knew every make and variety by smell alone, and while the billowing smoke was certainly alarming, it didn’t smell terrible, and there was too much of it. It was also pretty hard to see through, and the entire carriage was awash with yelling, screaming, and the sound of people desperately trying to get windows open. 

Hurrying forwards made things clearer, and not just because the smoke started to thin. It had burst out of the girls’ loos down their end of the carriage, and Patricia Ackerley sat against the wall, clutching her chest, face stained green by now. Sirius suspected she’d opened the door in the first place and had, if not triggered it, been at ground zero. He leaned down and muttered, sympathetic, ‘Try water; _Scourgify_ will probably stain.’ 

‘Oh, _no_ ,’ Remus groaned, pushing ahead until they got to their friends’ compartment to find the door not just shut, but _sealed_ \- and inside, absolutely safe from any of the invasive smoke, reading as if it were a perfectly calm summer’s day and there wasn’t chaos and screaming outside, sat Peter and James. Peter gave them a polite, jovial wave through the door window. James didn’t even break his veneer of indifference. 

‘I’m not even going to _try_ to prove anything.’ This was Lily, stood at the door to her compartment. The scent of a sweet-air charm, deftly and quickly applied, hovered in the air and cleared out the smoke around her. ‘I know how it goes. They just sealed up the door the moment there was a commotion, and nobody can prove they were ever _near_ the toilet to plant something. But yes, Potter looks positively _despondent_ , doesn’t he? You’re _so_ right to worry, Black.’ 

And, rolling her eyes, she ducked back into her compartment, leaving Sirius with the sinking realisation that Remus wasn’t very convinced, either, and that his new jacket was in sore danger of getting stained green. 


	5. Spider in a Cobweb

_He's never bothered by his conscience,_   
_Deals with the Devil, 'cause he wants to be,_   
_Man in the middle, the middle, the middle._   
_-_ _‘Man in the Middle,’ ABBA (1975)_   


‘It’s not complicated,’ said Fletch, looking Nathaniel McKinnon up and down. ‘A galleon a keg, and there were twelve kegs. So why, Nate, have I got ten galleons?’ 

Nathaniel glanced back and forth along the corridor of the rattling Hogwarts Express, squirrelly in his guilt. Obviously he thought himself better than being caught with the likes of her, so she kept her best, impish smile and sure as hell didn’t move to let him join her in the compartment. ‘I didn’t _ask_ for twelve kegs -’ 

‘No, you asked for ten, which I knew wouldn’t be enough. So I, being a conscientious sort of citizen and businesswoman, _anticipated_ my client’s needs and got him enough bloody ale.’ Fletch rubbed together forefinger and thumb. ‘So this isn’t much gratitude for me possessing the foresight that stopped your party _running dry_ early.’ 

He worked his jaw. ‘I already paid you for the lighting, too, and I didn’t ask you for that!’ 

‘You didn’t,’ she agreed. ‘I just showed up to find you’d done a piss-poor job of providing a _party atmosphere_ , so I set my man Cecil on the task. And didn’t everyone love it, Nate? Wasn’t it money well-spent?’ 

‘It’s only two bloody galleons, Fletcher!’ 

‘Then _pay_ me my two “bloody” galleons.’ Fletch opened her hands, face all innocence. ‘Satisfied customer. Satisfied provider. Simple.’ 

‘I didn’t _ask_ -’ 

‘Okay.’ A shape appeared over Fletch’s shoulder, and she tried to not smile too widely. She knew what was to come, and how this would go. Amy Hargreaves’ final growth spurt last year left her a sneeze over six feet, but that was a sneeze Nathaniel didn’t have. He was slim and blond and Fletch had always described him as ‘nice, but soft,’ so she could see his eyes widen at the sudden reinforcements. 

‘I’m getting bored of this,’ Hargreaves continued. ‘Fletch - _we_ \- did a job. Gave not just our time, but _things_ , too - you know _things_ cost us money? Our time’s not free, but _things_ are less free. So here’s how this works. You pay Fletch the two galleons and apologise. Or I’m taking your balls.’ Professor Flitwick had almost literally hit the roof that time Hargreaves pulled a knife on Jack Corrigan. Fletch had been there, watched a miniature man have a mountainous explosion, and it hadn’t been as funny as she’d expected. One toe out of line ever again, and that toe would probably be taken off. 

But damage would be done, and Nathaniel McKinnon looked like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be that collateral. He reached for his pocket. ‘Just - don’t get extra next time, okay? Not without clearing it with me _first_. I don’t like leftovers.’ 

There’d been less than half a keg left over, but then Nathaniel was giving her two galleons and Fletch decided she could let the customer be right if it soothed his wounded pride. Besides, this was his last year at Hogwarts, He probably wasn’t going to enlist her services again any time soon. 

She closed the compartment door when he left and turned, brandishing the two coins. ‘All in a day’s work.’ She flicked one each to her two companions. ‘Your cut.’ 

Hargreaves snatched the coin out of the air, smirk broad. ‘Yeah, I notice how our cut came out of what McKinnon _wasn_ _’t_ paying.’ 

‘Hey!’ Cecil Stebbins was less graceful in catching his galleon, dropping a bunch of papers to scrabble across the bench for it. ‘I did the lighting, how come we get paid the same? Hargreaves just carried things!’ 

‘You wouldn’t _have_ that galleon without me.’ Hargreaves plonked herself on the bench across, stretching out her long legs. She could have been, Fletch thought, graceful if she tried for it, but Amy Hargreaves never did. Maybe she’d never been bothered to make the effort. Maybe she’d decided being tall and muscular and not one inch of her - from black dreadlocks to black combat boots - giving a fuck what anyone thought worked better. 

Still, there were times Fletch felt decidedly shabby next to her, with her average height and average build, mousy brown hair short and wild, nose a little bit too long and chin a little bit too strong. Sometimes it worked for her to cultivate this, to stick with the robes that were worn at the elbows and only reached her knees, that didn’t hide the cheap boots and trousers. Keeping her appearance a bit scruffy and downtrodden made it more likely for people like Nathaniel McKinnon to come to her. She could do the things the fancy people didn’t or wouldn’t. 

But sometimes it made them think they could stomp all over her, and that was when she needed Hargreaves. 

‘He’d have paid me in the end,’ Fletch said instead. ‘It just might have been a bit awkward for everyone. Anyway, you know I don’t only pay you in coins.’ 

Cecil’s eyes lit up when she went for the second, smaller trunk she’d tucked under the bench. ‘I thought you’d _forgotten_ -’ 

‘Like I’d forget. I need these myself,’ she scoffed, and kicked the trunk open to show the tidy array of stacked books. 

Even Hargreaves, the world’s worst Ravenclaw, sat up. ‘You life-saver, Fletch.’ 

‘I know. _Entwhistle_ _’s Magizoology_ for Hargreaves.’ The tome, big enough to beat a man to death with, was handed over. ‘ _Jupiter_ _’s Spirals_ for Cecil. And _Advanced Charms_ for everyone, plus about _six_ spares, because who the fuck doesn’t do a Charms NEWT?’ 

Hargreaves was clutching her book like she was drowning and this was a raft. ‘It’s almost brand-new.’ 

‘It’s the edition from the ‘40s.’ Fletch grimaced apologetically. ‘There was a new edition brought out in ‘51, so that one was almost immediately out of date, which is why it’s not worn. But so long as you don’t mind it missing a chapter on the Indian subcontinent ‘cos Entwhistle hadn’t _been_ there yet, it’s just as good.’ 

Hargreaves gave smirks and chuckles and sneers, but she didn’t _smile_ much. She did now, bright and happy and looking, Fletch thought, a bit younger for it. ‘I can work around that. Thanks.’ 

‘Hey, this shit is expensive.’ Fletch shrugged. ‘If you get it off Diagon Alley, anyway. Or mail order. I’m not just doing this for you; I’m going to make a _fortune_ off people who haven’t picked their subjects yet.’ 

‘You know,’ said Cecil, nudging his glasses - one of the hinges taped secure - up his nose, ‘you’re lucky we’re all Ravenclaws; a black market on books wouldn’t work anywhere else.’ 

Where neither girl cut the stereotypical shape of a Ravenclaw, Cecil was short and skinny and nerdy, dark hair wild, spectacles needed for him to see more than two feet in front of him, big-nosed and knobbly-kneed and occasionally speaking with a lisp. Just as Fletch owed her financial solvency on occasion to Hargreaves, Cecil owed Hargreaves his neck about fifteen times over. In turn, they both piled in to help Hargreaves with her essays. 

‘It’s like I planned where I’d end up.’ Fletch grinned. ‘Though I think we like to prove our wit beyond measure without needing bloody O grades all around.’ 

Hargreaves shrugged. ‘Or, you know, at all.’ 

‘But speaking of Ravenclaws, I talked to Bane - Sharon, that is - on my wander. Yes, I _know_ she’s a Hufflepuff. But!’ Fletch sat back down on the bench and waggled her hands. ‘ _Drama_.’ 

‘Ooh.’ Cecil closed his textbook, while Hargreaves rolled her eyes. 

‘It’s important!’ admonished Fletch. ‘How can we stay ahead of the curve if we don’t know what the curve _is_?’ She pressed on before they could argue. ‘So Sharon talked to Ackerley, who’s spending more time all of a sudden with Baddock. You guys noticed that; Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws sticking together more?’ 

‘It happened a bit in breaks between OWLs,’ said Hargreaves, disinterested. 

‘Makes sense,’ said Cecil. ‘Polarisation between Slytherin and Gryffindor is getting even worse. If we don’t want to get crushed between them or ripped apart, we’re going to have to find some weight of our own, and solidarity’s the only real option.’ 

‘This is why I stay out of everything.’ 

‘It’s why _we_ stay out of everything,’ Fletch agreed. ‘But the real news is this: Baddock’s kicked Marlene to the curb.’ Even Hargreaves looked surprised by this. Dorothy Baddock, Shanti Dhawan, and Marlene McKinnon were Ravenclaw girls in their year, and they’d been tight since the start - not to mention their polar opposites in composure and attitudes. ‘She’sfurious Marlene’s with Black.’ 

‘She’s not the only one,’ said Hargreaves dryly. 

Fletch ignored this. ‘So that’s going to send _ripples_. Is McKinnon going to break up with Black? Will that change Baddock’s mind? What’s Dhawan going to do about this? I think Ackerley’s being brought in as McKinnon’s replacement in the Dream Team. Does this mean _other_ Hufflepuff girls are going to join Baddock’s circle? What about Aragon?’ 

‘Jesus.’ 

‘I agree,’ said Cecil, alarmed. ‘Since when did we care about House politics? Or inter-House politics?’ 

Fletch looked between them, expression flat. ‘Dorothy Baddock holds more parties in Ravenclaw than _anyone_ but Nathaniel. _Nathaniel_ has NEWTs to worry about this year. I care about Baddock’s moods. And Hufflepuffs are getting antsy. You heard _Leonard Travers_ started to spend more time with the Mulcibers?’ 

‘Couldn’t happen to a more deserving guy,’ drawled Hargreaves. 

Fletch sagged back onto her bench, tossing her hands in the air. It was dark outside the windows now; they had to have crossed the border into Scotland and no doubt the highlands tore across the invisible horizon. They couldn’t be far off Hogwarts. ‘I know it’s my job to think about the things which keep us in pocket. But Hogwarts’ economy thrives on one of two things: the sort of stability that makes people happy and confident and spending money to avoid being bored, or the sort of chaos which makes people spend money to keep _distracted_. I like to know which we’re heading for.’ 

Cecil winced. ‘Can we leave war fuss at the door?’ 

Something hardened in Hargreaves’ eyes as they fixed on him. ‘I don’t know. _Can_ we? _Will_ Slytherin?’ 

‘It’s _fine_ ,’ said Fletch, flapping her hands. ‘Slytherins leave us alone. It’s good. It’s fine.’ She didn’t mention _why_ Slytherins left them alone, and so it was with a surge of relief that she noticed glimmering golden lights out the window, through the darkness ahead. ‘I thinkthat’s Hogsmeade.’ 

Cecil anxiously checked his watch, then bounced to his feet. ‘Must be.’ 

Hargreaves was still watching him a bit like an angry cat whose toy had been stolen, but her inevitable disinterest kicked in, and she sat up. ‘Come on, then. Better be presentable so Dumblebore can drone at us.’ 

It was, Fletch remembered when they eventually emerged onto the platform, so bloody _cold_ in Scotland. Perhaps that explained the Mulcibers; the northern clime turned blood to ice. But she preferred to not test the theory first-hand, so the trio kept moving for the self-propelling carriages, and the short, rattling journey up to the castle. 

‘Go, First Years,’ Hargreaves muttered into her coat as she peered out the window at the Great Lake. ‘Try to not freeze, it’ll delay the feast and I’m bloody starving.’ 

‘It’s a nice tradition,’ said Cecil, who had curled up at the bottom of his boat in their first year, rocking gently, and refused to emerge until they were on dry land. 

‘I hated it,’ said Hargreaves. 

Fletch rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not _that_ bad.’ 

‘I’m from _Brixton_ , ain’t I. Seen a lot of water in Brixton?’ 

‘There’s a park,’ pointed out Fletch, who had visited Hargreaves one summer and promptly regretted it. ‘There’s water.’ 

‘They’re ornamental ponds. Not the same as a fucking Scottish loch.’ 

Cecil eyeballed Hargreaves. ‘I thought you _liked_ the outdoors. I thought you were one of the, what, _five_ people who’s carrying on with Care of Magical Creatures?’ 

‘There might be six,’ came the defensive reply. ‘And I can like magical creatures and not like the _water_ , can’t I. Plenty to study elsewhere.’ 

Fletch thought it a kindness from the cosmos when the carriage rattled to a halt before the steps up to Hogwarts. The castle loomed above them, bright golden lights twinkling, bathing them in the warmth of cheer and goodwill and welcoming them home. Hargreaves had once said she thought Hogwarts looked towering, unwelcoming - the word _intimidating_ had been left unsaid. But then, Hargreaves was a Muggle-born with weird attitudes. All Fletch saw when she looked at it was _opportunity_. And Cornelia Fletcher liked opportunity. 

‘You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up,’ she said as they crunched onto the gravel and she looked down the row of other carriages pulling up. 

Hargreaves followed her gaze and made a face. ‘Oh, come on, girl, don’t.’ 

‘I can’t keep you in scary monster books for nothing.’ Fletch didn’t wait for a reply before leaving them for the gaggle of Slytherins who’d just arrived. To her relief, Mulciber the elder wasn’t there - but his brother Graham was, tall and austere and with fine features fixed in a permanent leer of superiority, even towards his fellows. Of course the dumb slabs of muscle that were Flint and Wilkes stood with him, but she took a moment to confirm that Graham Mulciber’s new shadow was, in fact, Severus Snape.  
  
_Evans must have kicked him to the curb. Guess he_ _’ll fall further back into the Slytherin mix_. It might not change much, but Fletch would never turn down gossip. Everything could prove important. 

‘Saul.’ It was the last of the gang of Slytherin Sixth Years that Fletch slunk up next to. Saul Avery smiled more than the others, spoke more than the others - knew how to be polite more than the dumb muscle or the creepy Snape or the superior Graham Mulciber. But even his expression flickered when he clocked her, and Fletch sighed internally. Some day, she’d deal with people who didn’t think it demeaning to talk to her. 

But Saul Avery was smart enough to smile, and he waved his friends on. ‘Save me a seat,’ he told Mulciber, then turned to her. ‘And what can I do for _you_ , my dear?’ 

It was patronising, lying bullshit, but Fletch much preferred this game to Nathaniel’s. She pretended to fan herself. ‘You _always_ know how to make a lady feel welcome. Pity I’m not a lady.’ 

‘Well, no.’ Avery wasn’t as tall as Mulciber or as broad as Flint, but he had a swimmer’s build and a not displeasing face and understood the merits of keeping his dark hair tidy instead of sharing James Potter’s goal of a dashing bird’s nest. ‘You’re far _smarter_ than most, Fletch.’ 

_Smile_ , she told herself. _Smile like it_ _’s a compliment_. ‘Which is why I’m finding you so _early_ , Saul.’ They headed for the castle amid the thick crowd, because she didn’t want this conversation to last longer than it had to. ‘I just thought we made _such_ a good team last year that I’d check in early. See if there’s any _future_ to our business relationship.’ 

He stopped at the huge front doors, and when he smiled again, his cheeks dimpled. It was unexpectedly cute for a superior Slytherin pure-blood. ‘ _Only_ business? You break my heart.’ 

‘That’s me. A heart-breaker.’ She stood her ground. 

The smile softened. ‘It’s early days yet. I’ll be in touch; I’m _sure_ I’ll always have use for someone of your talents.’ 

‘You know where to find me.’ 

But he reached out as she turned away, put a hand to her elbow, and she tried to not jump. ‘The thought occurs,’ said Avery, voice softening like treacherous velvet, ‘that one can never be _too_ ready for the Quidditch season. Captain Potter must have his plans already.’ 

She made herself arch an eyebrow at him, tried to appear mysterious and superior when really she was trying to free her arm as surreptitiously as possible. ‘You’re fixing Randal Mulciber’s problems _for_ him?’ 

He let her go, hands opening in all generous innocence. ‘My dear, that sort of thinking is why he keeps me around.’ 

Fletch wasn’t sure of that. The older Mulciber could appear the brute, big and muscular, and being a loud presence only helped that. It wasn’t surprising Avery fashioned himself as the man behind the curtain; it was the only place of prestige left for him, after all. But most people who paid attention could recognise Randal Mulciber’s particular brand of calculated cruelty, and it was Fletch’s _job_ to pay attention. This was why she went to Avery instead, after all. Him, she could play. 

‘You know my rates,’ was all she said, winked at him for reasons that escaped her, and hurried off to join the crowds in the Great Hall before he could reply. 

The House tables were filling fast, but it was to the teachers she looked, checking out the new faces - and the absences, most notable of which was Dumbledore himself, the long grey beard nowhere in sight. Her friends had failed to save her a seat, so Hargreaves kicked the Fifth Year next to her in the ankle and told him to fuck off. 

‘One of these days,’ said Cecil, ‘Flitwick’s going to notice you doing that.’ 

‘That’d take Flitwick remembering I fucking exist.’ Hargreaves looked at Fletch. ‘You need a shower yet?’ 

Fletch sighed, slipping onto the bench. ‘It’s _fine_.’ 

Hargreaves narrowed her eyes, looking between Fletch and the Slytherin table. ‘He’s scum -’ 

‘He pays well.’ 

‘I don’t want his money.’ 

‘You just want the schoolbooks you couldn’t afford without my contacts and my discounts and _my_ money, and you know how much I get off pure-blood bastards like him?’ Fletch’s jaw tightened, and she could see Cecil leaning back, blowing out his cheeks. _Coward_. ‘You think I can be picky because of politics?’ Hargreaves’ face went stony and she said nothing, and Fletch wasn’t entirely sure she was sorry. 

Cecil cleared his throat and sat up. ‘So, hey, new teachers.’ 

Fletch looked to the top table. ‘No sign of Dumbledore. Is that old Professor Dearborn back?’ 

‘Who?’ said Cecil, obviously too keen to keep conversation going, while Hargreaves glared at the table in silence. 

‘Used to teach Muggle Studies. And I don’t recognise the guy on the left -’ 

‘Must be the new Defence professor.’ 

‘Think it’s even worth learning his name?’ Fletch glanced apprehensively at Hargreaves. ‘Dearborn was apparently really good at Muggle Studies; it might be worth keeping it on -’ 

Mercifully, the doors flew open then to let the First Years come in, led by the tall and unforgiving shape of Professor McGonagall. Fletch tried not to make eye-contact; the Deputy Head had _never_ liked her, and the feeling was safely mutual. Running betting pools and a healthy black market had won her harsher punishments than most of the Marauders’ pranks did, which Fletch argued were _far_ more disruptive to other pupils. When this point sank like a lead balloon, she could only conclude that either favouritism was at play or that her offences were a greater affront to some perverse Gryffindor honour. 

‘Where _is_ the old fart?’ Hargreaves muttered, but McGonagall waited for nobody as she led the First Years to the Sorting Hat. 

The sixth song and Sorting were no more exciting than the previous five. Cecil tried to brighten the proceedings by making predictions, but it lacked the hilarious cruelty of previous years, where Hargreaves would predict Slytherins based on which eleven year-olds ‘ _looked like little shits_.’ She remained stony and silent. 

There was _still_ no Dumbledore, and Fletch’s heart sank when, all the First Years sent to their tables, McGonagall stepped up to the Headmaster’s podium. Not just for what it represented, but Dumbledore at least had the decency to let them eat before bogging them down in tiresome school matters. 

‘Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,’ came the Deputy Headmistress’ clear, crisp voice, and Fletch immediately fought the urge to fall asleep. 

‘She’s going to get a dig in at me,’ she hissed. ‘Just wait. We’ll have _good year of opportunity_ , blah, _do not break these rules_ , blah.’ 

‘Shh!’ That was Rufus Burke, obviously keen to be worthy of his prefect’s badge after an inauspicious first year. 

‘What?’ Fletch hissed back, under the drone of McGonagall’s judgement. ‘She has _literally_ just said those words.’ 

Burke looked like he might argue, but then Wick, sat across from him, clamped his hand over his mouth and tried to not guffaw, and from there it was a chain reaction of Ravenclaw House struggling to keep a straight face through one of the least whimsical welcome feasts of Hogwarts in anyone’s memory. McGonagall fell silent to glare at them, everyone coughed and recovered their composure, and Wick gave her a quick, friendly wink before going back to paying attention. 

At least she had _some_ Housemates who didn’t treat her like scum, even if Wick was a posh bastard. 

‘As I was _saying_ ,’ McGonagall pressed on, ‘I would expect most of you have acquired your necessary study materials by now. For those who _haven_ _’t_ , I would recommend you continue to rely on owl mail-order from respectable sources. There were several instances last year of students purchasing sub-par equipment or erroneous textbooks from informal sources; remember, if something is cheaper there is likely a _reason_.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Fletch seethed. She’d expected this. ‘Reason being, I’m not looking to bleed students dry by cornering the bloody market. _Sub-par_ equipment! Nothing bloody wrong with the stuff I get you!’ Cecil simply patted her arm; this was not the first time they’d been through this, so she let it drop. 

‘Furthermore, I would ask you all,’ McGonagall continued, ‘to join me in greeting Professor Dearborn, who has returned after some years of academic study to again teach Muggle Studies.’ 

Professor Dearborn stood and students applauded, Seventh Years who remembered him the most enthused. He was a tall man, probably not yet forty but with a weathered, dark face, grey streaking in at his coiled black hair. His robes were what Fletch would call ‘shabby,’ being intimately familiar with such clothes herself, but he gave the Great Hall a warm wave without self-consciousness. 

Although clapping with genuine fervour, Wick leaned down the table towards them, smiling a crooked smile. ‘By “academic study,” she means “writing for _Race Today_ in London.”’ He was talking to Hargreaves as much as Fletch in a way she thought a touch condescending, but though Fletch wasn’t sure what _Race Today_ even _was_ , she could put two and two together. Wick probably thought they’d both appreciate something that subverted McGonagall’s stuffiness. 

‘…and Professor Drake, who has joined us from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.’ 

Professor Drake was everything Professor Dearborn was not; pale, smooth-skinned, with narrow features and pale, deep-set eyes. His robes were black and long, well-tailored to show off a narrow waist, broad shoulders; a rich man in his physical prime, and Fletch suspected he wasn’t even thirty. 

Across from her, Cecil gave a soft, ‘huh,’ as he clapped, then shook his head at her look. ‘She just said Department of Magical Law Enforcement,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘If he’d been a Hit Wizard or Auror or from the Patrol, she’d have said, right?’ 

It _was_ peculiar, but then McGonagall’s voice raised again over the applause as Professor Drake sat down. ‘I shall let you eat in a moment, but I must first impress upon you some changes. As you may have inferred, Professor Dumbledore is and will likely remain very busy this year, business at the Ministry taking a lot of his time. As such, I will be taking on more of his responsibilities, and shall be passing the supervision of prefects and school discipline on to Professor Abernathy.’ 

‘Not that little fucking hobgoblin,’ Hargreaves muttered, looking at the short Head of Hufflepuff House. 

But Fletch had brightened. McGonagall cared about things like principles. Abernathy was notorious for caring only about keeping the school _quiet_ , so it must have pained McGonagall greatly to pass responsibilities on to him. She couldn’t have had much choice; Flitwick was terrible with students who didn’t want to listen, and giving more power to Slughorn, Head of Slytherin even if he was rather likable, would have caused a riot. 

‘You know,’ said Fletch as McGonagall finally sat down and the tables burst to life with the sumptuous dishes of the welcome feast, ‘this year might not go too badly, after all.’ 

Cecil didn’t answer because he was already trying to eat his own body weight in Yorkshire pudding, but Hargreaves had brightened considerably in the face of food. She was, Fletch remembered, always at her crankiest when hungry. When they looked at each other, Hargreaves gave a grunt and a one-shouldered shrug and began piling roast beef onto her plate, and Fletch couldn’t help but grin broadly at that. From Amy Hargreaves, that was the equivalent of a hug and an assurance that all was well, their bicker of before forgiven or forgotten or at least brushed under the table. 

And it would do, because Fletch could literally not afford to stop dealing with people Hargreaves hated. Even if they were people who kind of wanted Hargreaves and everyone like her dead. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. 


	6. Wrapped in Golden Chains

_Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun._   
_And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain._   
_-_ _‘Who’ll Stop the Rain,’ Creedence Clearwater Revival (1970)_

 

Dawn had dragged its delicate fingers across his face before he rose. It was a cold dawn, a pale dawn; a dawn promising the death of wretched, bloated summer, and the kiss of shadows to come. 

‘How can you call it too hot?’ said Saul, eyes heavily lidded from sleep’s echo as he sat on the bed and tied his laces. ‘We’ll bloody freeze to death up here before too long.’ But then Saul Avery was southern and soft in his way, like the supple leather of his boots; well-made and pretty to look at, but more show than substance. He would freeze in winter’s grasp. 

‘I don’t mean it’s uncomfortable,’ Graham explained, knowing his words would fall on the deaf ears of the uncaring. ‘I mean it’s been a long, hot summer, so I promise there’ll be storms.’ 

‘Oh, there will. A magnificent storm.’ Saul smiled as he took his words for metaphors. Perhaps they were, but Graham Mulciber knew a storm cared nothing for who stood in its way, and not one man could harness the lightning. 

But perhaps the Dark Lord was not, as they said, a man. Not any more. 

To distract his own treacherous thoughts, he said, ‘Where’s Severus?’ as he buttoned up his shirt. Flint and Wilkes were still in the showers and there was half an hour to breakfast, but Graham had risen to find Snape already gone from their dormitory. This was nothing unusual, but Snape was supposed to be one of them now, bowing and scraping at his brother’s boots while hiding a dagger behind his back, like all the other disciples. 

Saul shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t _care_. Randal might welcome him to the fold, but your brother’s too trusting. It’s a little late in the day to be fuzzy on your loyalties, and I don’t trust a fellow who turns to us only because he’s been rejected. He made a tragic error in his associations with Mudbloods.’ 

‘You mean by associating in the first place?’ 

‘Severus can _fuck_ whoever he likes.’ Saul turned to the door, all austere dismissal. ‘His mistake came in getting _attached_.’ 

Graham Mulciber and Saul Avery had not stayed friends for five years by making schoolboy errors such as disagreeing. For Graham’s part, the trick came in changing the subject when Saul pretended himself superior or worldly. Saul could afford to be suspicious of Severus Snape; he had not the sway to dissuade Randal Mulciber from welcoming him to the pack and so would never be obliged to act on his words. And if his doubts proved correct, he could crow how he’d known all along. That was a common posturing of Saul’s, but the presumption of Snape and Evans’ relationship stuck in Graham’s throat for reasons he did not fully understand, or care to. 

‘You’re sure I can’t persuade you to join me in a Magical Creatures NEWT?’ he said instead of answering, the second change of topic in as many minutes. 

‘My dear Graham, _nobody_ is going to take you seriously with a qualification in cleaning out Niffler shit. You should join me in something sensible, like Ancient Runes, and focus on Quidditch.’ Saul was a legendary armchair critic of the team. 

‘Quidditch won’t get me a job. I’m not _that_ good.’ 

‘You’re the best Seeker in Hogwarts.’ 

Graham’s brow crinkled. ‘Competition is hardly fierce. Besides, you heard Tutshill aren’t hosting any games this season, after the damage in June? There are rumours they might suspend the entire league if this continues.’ 

Death Eaters had struck the Tutshill game, Fiendfyre ravaging the north stand in one of the more overt displays of violence yet. Cheap seats had been tightly packed with the disposable, for the right bloodline so often came hand in hand with a Gringotts vault of some weight, or the connections to get a good seat regardless. It took effort for Graham to banish disapproval from his voice, though it was no work to imagine the crush of bodies; the thick, musty smell of panic, and all of this swam before his eyes before even the thought of fire. 

Saul looked startled, as if had stumbled into a trap. ‘Well - it’s only _Tutshill_ , they hired that Mudblood Kensington after all.’ 

If he condemned the attacks, that would be to speak against the Movement. Even criticising the Ministry for failing to protect the Quidditch match, or for bowing to pressures and fears, would be to undermine the Movement, and Graham knew full well the lectures Saul would have heard from his father across the dinner table over summer. Randal spoke often of their own father saying much the same thing, as if adoration of the Dark Lord had supplanted prayers before a meal. Not that this was how Mulcibers prayed. 

The first morning in school made early risers of them all, so the common room bustled as they rose out of the dorms. Saul patted him on the shoulder and said something about catching up with Amycus Carrow, as if the five days since the McKinnon party were an eternity. Some men might live adventures and dreams in less than a week, but Graham was unsure if Carrow could so much as find his socks by himself in that time. 

His younger sister Madeline still giggled and gossipped when she emerged from her dormitory with her friends, and while she waved at him he knew he’d only bring those storm clouds to her horizon if he joined her. So it came that his eyes fell on a lone figure at in an armchair, bathed in the rippling emeralds of sunshine refracted through the Great Lake’s waters and the tall windows boasting the view of the gloomy depths. To some, the common room was cold and unwelcoming, a dank corner of the school. To others, this isolation made it a sanctuary of secrets, a vault for the greatest minds. Graham Mulciber simply found the darkness comforting. 

It seemed his target did also, for she started as he sat across from her, _Daily Prophet_ flopping to show an arched, suspicious eyebrow. ‘What do you want?’ 

Graham hesitated. ‘To bid you good morning? Was that inappropriate, Emmeline?’ 

Emmeline Vance closed the newspaper and cast an anxious glance to the stairway to her dormitory, and at last it struck him odd that she was alone. For years she had been the brightest and strongest of the girls, the most forthright in her icy aristocracy and cool control. He knew this had diminished over the last year, for he had not been the only social indulgence cast aside so she could focus on her studies. But he had not thought their parting of ways acrimonious. ‘I’m sorry, Graham. It was just unexpected.’ 

‘Oh.’ Realisation was slower to rise than the dawn of ailing summer. ‘Rosalind is angry with you.’ 

‘Rosalind is doing nothing.’ He’d learnt to notice when Emmeline’s smiles didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Rosalind never does anything. _Alecto_ has decided I’m _persona non grata_ and thinks she’s supplanting me, while Rosalind keeps her hands clean, her prestige high, and continues to toy with your brother.’ 

Graham made a point of ignoring Rosalind Yaxley’s flirtations with his brother. She was, perhaps, the only one who could make a fool of Randal Mulciber, and he was unconvinced she understood quite how dangerous this was. ‘I’m not in the habit of following the politics of you lasses,’ he said, endeavouring to avoid condescension. ‘They change so fast I can scarce keep up.’ 

‘They’re the same as _your_ politics, Graham; don’t call us flighty and fool yourself. It’s all about where to stand. You stand with Saul and your brother. Even Snape has come running. Alecto stands with you, which she thinks gives her power over the other girls; Rosalind stands a step behind and thinks _that_ gives her power.’ 

There was a wryness to her sing-song simplification of the snaking paths of Slytherin House, and he felt them circling danger and stood. ‘I thought you stepped away to focus on your OWLs. I didn’t think it had anything to do with loyalties.’ 

Emmeline lifted her newspaper and turned a page. ‘I appreciate you coming to talk to me, Graham, but let’s not pretend. You understand _far_ better than most that how we’re _seen_ is more influential than how we _are_.’ 

He had often thought their breakup a simple matter; she was as ambitious as a Slytherin should be, and decided an education was more important than a relationship. But he was reminded, then, how dark eyes he could never read still tore through him and his masks; even the masks he hadn’t known were there. 

‘You’re better off without her,’ Saul said like a mantra when they headed down for breakfast. ‘Alecto’s not sure about her, and, really, are we in a place to risk uncertainties?’ 

‘I didn’t know studying instead of going to parties showed weakening loyalties.’ 

‘Don’t be so naive, Graham.’ 

‘I’m not. I _know_ her.’ 

‘Did you expect her to dump you? No. So you didn’t know her that well.’ 

Graham sighed and said nothing until they were down into the blustering mass of bright mornings and breakfasts of the Great Hall. His brother had, to the surprise of nobody, assumed Rabastan Lestrange’s old place of primacy at the top of the Slytherin table, flanked by his faithful flunky Amycus Carrow. A languid hand summoned them, the gesture reminding Graham of the paintings their father used to keep of ancient times, what Randal used to call better times, of wizards stood alongside Muggles in places of power. In particular he recalled one of ancient Rome showing an emperor issuing commands as a wizard in dark robes lurked beside the throne, all but pulling the strings. While looking at his brother put Graham in mind of the emperor, he suspected nobody played puppet-master quite so much as they presumed. 

‘I noticed Marlene McKinnon’s sitting on her own,’ Alecto Carrow was saying to Randal, speaking across her brother like he wasn’t there or at least wasn’t worth including in the discussion. ‘If she’s lost Baddock’s friendship over flirting with Black, that’s going to make her a target.’ 

‘A poor one,’ said Saul as they slid onto the bench opposite Graham’s brother. ‘Nathaniel will keep protecting her, and Nathaniel’s not alone. We win no friends and earn no points by targeting pure-bloods.’ 

Alecto’s lip curled, and Graham ignored her as he sat beside Saul. She had never been the prettiest girl; a little too square of face, strong of jaw, and spending so much time in the shadow of the aristocratic Emmeline Vance and the cultivated beauty of Rosalind Yaxley had done her no favours. But she was certainly meaner than either of them, more vicious, and with her brother such a useless lump, Graham understood her hunger to prove herself. It was not easy to be the younger sibling of a hulking presence. ‘We’re not earning House points.’ 

‘What do you _think_ is the point of doing anything here, at Hogwarts, Alecto?’ Saul kept his air of disinterest, as if buttering his toast were more worthy of his time. ‘We’re not going to _thin the herd_ of Muggle-borns. We need to focus on finding the like-minded and showing them that it is _safe_ to have these views. We won’t change the world in school. We’ll only change the world once we live in it.’ 

Graham spared a glance up from his breakfast, not for the conversation but the top table. Slughorn was already there, deep in conversation with Professor Bagnet, which of course required more hollering into the deaf Ancient Runes teacher’s ear than actual dialogue. If he could hear them, he was making no show of it. By now, Graham suspected Slughorn preferred to act just as deaf as his breakfast partner, else he might have to _do_ something. 

‘Evans is picking up new friends,’ Alecto pushed. ‘Mudbloods and sympathisers. She could do with being taken down a peg, if we don’t want to go after McKinnon.’ 

Amycus Carrow swallowed a mouthful of his sausage and egg bun. A thin line of yolk dribbled out the corner of his mouth. ‘We shouldn’t hold back on blood-traitors, however popular -’ 

‘We’re not going to act against the McKinnons.’ When Randal Mulciber spoke, not looking up from the diligent slicing of his toast into thin strips, everyone fell silent - even the Carrows. ‘It wasn’t wise to target Marlene at the party, Amycus. I know she’s a blood-traitor, but the populace is fickle and easily bought, and there were enough barrels of beer at that party to buy an army. Now, the Mudblood Corrigan; bloody him if you get the chance. I doubt he’ll be much trouble. He doesn’t have Travers looking out for him any more, and you sent him packing perfectly well, Amycus.’ 

Graham’s gaze flickered up to the elder Carrow, by degrees puffed and deflated by Randal’s words. He’d missed the party, but Saul had scoffed through a retelling, painting both Corrigan and Amycus as dumb brutes in a doomed contest of wits. Of course, it suited Saul to see Amycus in such a light. All the better to presume himself Randal’s right hand man. 

‘Dumbledore, in his _endless wisdom_ , has appointed Ravenclaw’s Jeddler and Hufflepuff’s Gulpidge as Head Boy and Head Girl,’ Randal continued, deep voice remaining soft, mellifluous. He picked up his knife and steadied an egg in its holder. ‘This puts a pair of ineffective cowards in a position where they can offend precisely no-one and achieve precisely nothing. I sense the hand of our friend Professor Abernathy, preferring an illusion of peace to anything decisive that might… shatter.’ _Crack._ The knife sliced through the top of the egg, beheading it neatly. ‘Saul is right to suggest caution; we cannot overstep our bounds. But he is wrong to think all we’re here to do is present a public face. We _can_ thin the herd.’ 

‘Of course,’ said Saul, almost dropping his fork in his eagerness to appear in-step with Randal. ‘Torment a Muggle-born badly enough and they’ll be quick to leave the wizarding world once out of Hogwarts.’ 

‘It’s more than attacks.’ Randal dipped his strips of toast in the egg yolks, soldiers sacrificed by drowning in mutilated shells. ‘Isolate them. Make none dare associate, make none dare protect. If one has friends, drive them away. If one speaks out, opposes us, make an _example_ of them. We are quite lucky; there’s barely a dozen Muggle-borns across both the Sixth and Seventh Years. Make sure none of them gets an idea into their heads. Learn from my example.’ 

Amycus guffawed into his tea. ‘Macdonald’s not so much as _looked_ at you in a year and a half.’ 

Graham watched as something tightened in the corner of his brother’s jaw, a knot of tension he’d observed crank tauter and tauter over the years. Some day, the spring would burst forth with all its force, or, perhaps, break. It made his smile a rictus. ‘I know she’s not forgotten,’ said Randal Mulciber, and with that returned to his eggs. 

He did not speak again all breakfast. Saul did, of course, mindful enough to talk about the _other_ troublesome Muggle-borns. Sixth Years, he seemed convinced, would not be problems; Evans and Corrigan were too detached, and they only decreased in notoriety from there. It was those in their final year, he proclaimed, that would need putting in their place, for they would not have to face consequences in ten months. Ravenclaw’s Wick was a forthright, opinionated sod who never backed down, who had allies in Nathaniel McKinnon… 

Truth be told, Graham’s mind drifted. He was more worried about NEWT selection or Quidditch practice than the threat level of different students, half of them under-age, the other half he wouldn’t see again come June’s end. He did ask his brother, as the crowds began to disperse off to the corridors for morning classes, about try-outs. This won what he fancied was Randal’s first true smile of the day, the one that made him look like a bright seventeen year-old full of fire and promise, and not a cult leader. 

‘We’ve got the pitch Sunday afternoon already. Have to fill Rabastan’s Chaser slot, after all.’ 

‘You’re not making the rest of us try out again?’ 

Randal laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Stop frowning, little brother. You caught _every Snitch_. We won the Cup. Enjoy it. You worry too much.’ 

Graham thought of their mother’s scowls and tears, of empty halls back home. _One of us has to_. 

Saul waited for him at the doors to the Great Hall with strained expression, like he was fighting too hard to show nothing and the tension had nowhere to go. ‘Ready?’ 

They had to see Slughorn in his office to ensure their NEWT places, but Graham took a moment to study him before he realised the problem, and so he simply nodded and let them carry on their winding way. Saul was never sure if he was Randal’s supplicant or shadowy adviser, but winning his regard was an undeniable priority. Graham knew he wasn’t seen as a rival, for he was too quiet and too disinterested in people to threaten his scrabbling for supremacy. He wondered if Saul found it galling that his crony could claim Randal’s affection in a way Saul never would. 

Then at once stopped caring, for as ever it would go undiscussed, and Graham had no interest in changing his behaviour.

§ 

‘This is _it_?’ Professor Kettleburn had to stomp around on two wooden legs and enunciate his outrage with the arm that ended in a metal hook, but none of this slowed him down. He pottered back and forth before the six of them like they were soldiers in formation in a drill yard, not the new batch of his NEWT students down at the Care of Magical Creatures paddocks. Beady eyes narrowed on them each, as if their attendance were the offence - not the mass exodus from the singularly unpopular class.

Graham fixed his gaze on a point above Professor Kettleburn’s head and endeavoured to not grind his teeth to dust. Osmund Flint’s abandonment, his fellow Slytherin opting for only four NEWTs, left him stood alone in a sea of Hufflepuffs, a Gryffindor, and one so-called Ravenclaw. He should have anticipated this with Flint’s floundering academic prowess and Saul’s emphasised disinterest, but still a bitter taste rose in his mouth. 

‘It’s not that bad, Professor!’ chirped Mary Macdonald, stood with the three Hufflepuffs and seeming not in the slightest deterred by the low turnout. ‘This has to mean we’re all the really _keen_ ones, right?’ 

He couldn’t help but cast an arched eyebrow in her direction, and found the lone Ravenclaw girl doing much the same. But this would be his fate for the next two years, and even the fiery need for sarcasm did not override his survival instincts. The best way to keep this class bearable would be to keep his mouth shut. 

‘Ha! Perhaps.’ Kettleburn’s laugh was like sandpaper. ‘But I see you, keen, bright young things! Thinking you’ll care for cuddly, magical, _fluffy_ animals, hm?’ The hook waved wildly through the air like it could slice it, and he resumed his pottering pace before them. ‘I’ve been _soft_ on you the last three years! Caring for Nifflers and studying Hippogriff anatomy on _charts_! But this ends _now_!’ 

Maybe, Graham hoped, this would not prove entirely intolerable. 

‘The world of magizoology is _danger and death_!’ Kettleburn exploded. ‘Chimeras behind every tree! Yetis up every mountain! Mark my words, I’ve _seen_ them! I hunted a Chinese Fireball across the Kunlun Mountains for _seven weeks_ before it took my right leg in 1947!’ His waxed moustache bristled in emphasis, and Graham had to look at him a moment, just to wonder how he kept it so coiffured with only one hand. ‘And that was just for a _scale sample_!’ 

‘That seems - excessive,’ Graham pointed out before he could stop himself, the habitual superior sneer creeping in. Of course, everyone looked at him like he’d just accused Professor Kettleburn of drowning puppies, because a Slytherin was never permitted a _point_. 

Professor Kettleburn stomped as best as a man with two wooden legs _could_ stomp before him, and rammed the curve of his hook right under Graham’s nose, which was more than enough to make him take a startled step back. ‘With that sample I helped cure _Dragonscale Rot_ , which almost _wiped out_ the Guangxu Emperor’s wizarding adviser’s _entire breeding herd_ in 1893! It’s for _science_ , boy, it’s for _expanding_ our knowledge of the glorious little creatures on this world. All their _mysteries_ and _mystiques_ are uncovered by the _courageous_ magizoologist, the one who has the _nerve_ and the _daring_! Would you prefer going to cuddle Nifflers with my Third Years, boy?’ 

Silence quivered on a curved metal hook Graham was only _mostly_ sure was not about to impale his nostril, but Kettleburn’s dark eyes blazed, fixed on him. It took him a moment to realise this was not a rhetorical instruction. ‘Uh, no, thank you, sir.’ 

‘Good!’ Kettleburn pottered past him, hook waving at the rest of the students. Hufflepuff’s Paul Bane had to lean back to not lose a collar. ‘Is anyone _else_ taking a dekko at this and scarpering?’ He took the blank, confused faces as acceptance of his unruly rule, and stomped back to the middle of the paddock. Hogwarts Castle itself loomed in the distance, grey granite brightened by the last lingerings of summer, whose rays of light could neither pierce nor reach the depths of the Forbidden Forest to their east. 

‘Macdonald’s _right_ to say you’re keen!’ Professor Kettleburn boomed. ‘Dumbledore doesn’t like me doing the _interesting_ things with students, but that was OWLs! You’re almost adults now, ready for _serious_ responsibility! Ready for risk! And above all, Dumbledore’s not bloody _here_ right now, is he! So if you want to go _crying_ to him, you _can_ _’t_!’ He didn’t seem to expect the beams this won him. ‘You might have noticed we only have one class a week! I hope you didn’t pick this subject to get out of lessons!’ 

‘Um, we didn’t see the timetables until _after_ we’d picked the subject, sir -’ 

Kettleburn ignored Macdonald’s logic. ‘Because you’ll do _plenty_ of work! On your _own_ time! We’ll do lessons, we’ll do classroom work, we will _study_ , but that only gets you so far. Not as far as _practical_ effort! These two years will be all about your project. You’re going to have a beastie, a _serious_ beastie, that _you_ _’re_ responsible for! You’ll study it, you’ll learn to understand it. You’ll write papers about it and monitor its progress, but most important of all, you will _care_ for it! It will be _your_ burden! Day and night, you’ve got to come down here and feed it! Exercise it!’ Graham tried to not stagger at the sheer shock of a class delivering him the sort of challenge and responsibility he’d actually wanted, until Kettleburn waggled his hook at them and added, ‘Of course you won’t do it _alone_ , so pair up.’ 

He was going to, he thought, bring _hell_ down on Osmund at dinner. A glance to his right bore predictable results; the Bane twins were already stood together, and Mary Macdonald looked at Karen Richmond to grin, wave, and bind them in Muggle-born solidarity. So that left two of them. Graham Mulciber could not pretend he had ever paid Amy Hargreaves a great deal of attention. Her reputation was notorious enough to pierce disinterest and reach his ears anyway, for she was the least academic Ravenclaw he’d ever heard of and a Mudblood thug. But she was regarding him like he’d oozed onto her boots and left a stain, and before he could find some neat way of escaping the inevitable, she turned to Kettleburn. 

‘Can’t I be in a three, sir? Or do I just drive a rusty nail through my hand instead?’ 

Kettleburn rounded on her, ruddy cheeks reddening. ‘I lost this hand,’ he burst, waving the hook in the air, ‘after an Assyrian Manticore shot its quills _though_ my palm, impaling me against a tree on the banks of the Zarrineh River! I had to _chop it off_ so I could escape! Driving a rusty nail through your hand would be _chickenshit_ in comparison but _sometimes_ , Hargreaves, we have to do things we don’t like! Mulciber, get over here!’ 

Inhaling sharply, Graham squared his shoulders and approached them both, stiff-backed. ‘Sir.’ 

‘Don’t _sir_ , me, I see that little goblin glint in your eye,’ Kettleburn snapped. Graham found this unreasonable, as he had been endeavouring quite dearly to use his most normal expression. ‘Now, I don’t give two tugs of a dead dragon’s cock if you two have some _history_ or if maybe you just want her _dead_ or _I don_ _’t care_! You’ll have a creature, you’ll care for it, or you’ll both _fail_! Understood?’ 

Hargreaves turned her eyes skyward, and Graham gave a grimace of a smile. ‘Understood, sir,’ he drawled. ‘And thank you for the imagery.’ 

Macdonald coughed, and he had never been so grateful towards a Mudblood when this caught Kettleburn’s attention. ‘What creatures, sir?’ 

‘ _Finally_ , some spirit!’ Kettleburn stomped past Graham and Hargreaves to pull out a scroll of parchment. ‘I have friends in the business, breeders and traders. You select something from this list, and I will have it acquired within the week. Unless you happen to know your own wyvern trader who’s willing to part with an egg.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Then we need to talk most _serious_ business.’ 

He, of course, gave the list to the Banes first, and while the other four convened around the roll of parchment, Hargreaves shoved her hands into her pockets and asked his right ear, ‘Don’t suppose a ponce like you knows a wyvern trader?’ 

Graham bit back the helpful answer, arms folding across his chest. ‘Afraid I lost touch with the last one,’ he sneered. 

‘You should keep better track of them.’ 

‘It’s _difficult_ , because I have to spend time counting my diamond shoes.’ But this was achieving less than nothing, so he made himself meet her gaze. All this granted him was a view of surly disinterest, and he sighed. ‘What sort of magical creature were you _interested_ in?’ 

He got a one-shouldered shrug for his efforts. ‘I dunno. Depends on what he’s got on that list, don’t it?’ 

‘We’ll take the hippogriff!’ Paul Bane called to Kettleburn from behind them, and the twins exchanged a high-five. 

Macdonald snapped her fingers in disappointment. ‘That’s the _only cool_ thing on the list! The rest is Bowtruckles and Diricawls!’ 

‘Hey, don’t worry.’ Sharon Bane elbowed her and pointed down the list. ‘There’s that Greek Three-Headed Dog!’ 

Macdonald brightened. ‘We’ll take it!’ 

Hargreaves stomped past Graham to snatch the list from Macdonald. ‘Thanks for leaving us last,’ she growled. 

She looked apologetic. ‘Sorry; you two were talking -’ 

‘We really weren’t.’ Hargreaves moved away from everyone to study the list. 

With an eye-roll, Graham went to join her. ‘ _Is_ there anything interesting left?’ 

‘Not unless you want to chase down a disappearing bird for two years. _Fuck_.’ She thrust the list at him as if it were his fault they’d been too busy with their disgust to get there first. 

Studying the list proved her right, but a thought knotted his brow. ‘My mother knows a Granian trainer in the Hebrides.’ 

Kettleburn’s head snapped around at that. ‘That’ll be the Rothachs? Good beasts, theirs. Talk them into donating a yearling and that’ll do nicely.’ 

Hargreaves’ lips were a thin line. ‘So we spend two years taking care of a _magic pony_.’ 

But Graham was sure there was a glint in her eye, and he squared his shoulders, irritated she was feigning disinterest when he’d saved them from two years of drudgery. ‘A _flying_ magic pony. Or we could rely on _your_ contacts and study a Muggle urban rat. I’m sure it carries _fascinating_ diseases hitherto unknown by wizard kind.’ 

‘I don’t _need_ to go to London to study a rat, Mulciber, I’ve got one _right here_ for free.’ 

Graham rounded on Kettleburn. ‘Sir, I can do this project _alone_ -’ 

Kettleburn snapped his hook up. ‘Enough! It’s like the _point_ of this is teaching you to work in teams, because you don’t get by working alone in magizoology! That’s how you wind up _dead_! I worked on my own once, and my left leg…’ 

The tale continued. It was long, gruesome, included animals Graham had never heard of, and it certainly didn’t contain permission for him to not work with the surliest Mudblood he’d ever met. But despite all the thudding disappointment and frustration he found himself glancing to Hargreaves for the two of them to roll their eyes in unison at the blathering. 

It was their first point of camaraderie and would prove, he was sure, the last. 


	7. Move on Up

_Take nothing less, than the supreme best,_  
 _Do not obey for most people say you can past the test._  
 _-_ _‘Move On Up,’ Curtis Mayfield (1970)_  
  
Everyone kept saying a storm was inevitable, but perhaps because they were being pretentiously metaphorical, the world decided to punish them. By the morning of Lily’s first NEWT Potions class, the heavens had opened and torrential rain thundered down on the castle. Not for the first time, she was pretty glad she didn’t take Astronomy or Care of Magical Creatures, even if an inevitable dash to the Herbology greenhouses would run the risk of drowning.

‘It’s like the world’s pissing on us,’ was Dory’s assessment at breakfast. ‘You have fun in the dungeons this morning; they’ll be bloody freezing.’ 

‘You’re just _brimming_ over with encouragement, aren’t you.’ Lily rolled her eyes and dished out scrambled eggs. ‘It’s going to be hard enough as it is.’ 

Dory squinted at her, then her brow cleared with realisation. ‘ _Oh_. Snape. You think he’ll be an arse?’ 

‘I think that “arse” has become his default setting.’ She stabbed the eggs and tried to ignore the Slytherin table. On the one hand, this was easy seeing as it was on the other end of the Great Hall. But she could feel Severus’ eyes on her whenever she passed him, the glinting darkness that she could swear was turning from desperation to resentment. Once, his resentment would have made her feel guilty. Now that he resented her shoulder-to-shoulder with the Mulcibers, Carrows, and Avery, her apprehension wasn’t about what he felt, it was about what he might _do_. ‘And I’m not convinced anyone will stop them. Dumbledore being gone - what did _Dumbledore_ ever do? But if Professor McGonagall’s too busy…’ 

‘Wow.’ Dory brushed her brightly coloured hair back. ‘You really _have_ been out of the loop, Red.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘You think _anyone_ _’s_ done _anything_ about… about _anything_ these last two years? McGonagall kept an eye on the people she _likes_ and that’s it. Mary still gets shit from Randal Mulciber twice a month, even if Slughorn’s meant to keep him away from her and punish him if he doesn’t. Rabastan Lestrange docked points off a bunch of Hufflepuff Muggle-born Second Years in June for no reason, and of _course_ Abernathy did jack shit about it, like he always does. Last summer, Avery threatened Julia Bray _right in front_ of Flitwick; the little twerp gave him detention and notified Slughorn. Who, again, did _nothing_.’ 

Lily’s jaw set. ‘What was the threat?’ 

‘I’d say it doesn’t matter,’ sighed Dory. ‘Truth is, you don’t want to know.’ 

Lily looked away. She liked Slughorn, always fair, always decent, always kind to her. But it hadn’t escaped her notice that no invitations to the Slug Club had been issued this year, or that she saw him more out and about in the school than ever before, as if he were avoiding his own House. Slytherin had become a petri dish to breed You-Know-Who’s followers like bacteria, and even her favourite teacher at Hogwarts preferred to ignore it than do anything. 

‘Oh, hey.’ Dory sighed. ‘That was a piss-poor job I just did of cheering you up, wasn’t it? Let me fix it.’ And before Lily could stop her, she’d twisted on her bench at the Gryffindor table to bellow across at the Ravenclaws. ‘ _Oi! Wick!_ ’ 

Lily felt her cheeks go as bright as her hair, gaze snapping across the table to Dory. ‘Wait, what -’ 

‘Shut up, I’m helping you,’ Dory hissed, then snapped her fingers in the air. ‘ _C_ _’mon over, Poncy_!’ 

‘ _Dory_ -’ 

But then Wick was detaching from the gathering around Nathaniel McKinnon and other Ravenclaw Seventh Years, long-legged stride taking him over to them. His brown hair was wavier than it had been at the party, uniform collar loosened, though when Lily dared look up she could see a knot of tension at the corners of his eyes. It softened when he smiled at her. ‘Of _course_ I’ll attend upon your every wish, ladies,’ he said, and gave an over-the-top little bow before them. ‘Even with such a _courteous_ summons.’ 

Dory made a show of propping her chin on her elbow, and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I just wanted to get your attention, Poncy; important fellow like you.’ 

‘I’m _sorry_ ,’ stammered Lily. ‘She’s just -’ 

‘ _We_ were wondering if it’s true you live in a castle.’ 

Wick looked, just for a heartbeat, irritated - but the tension was banished in a heartbeat. ‘That would be an exaggeration.’ Then he looked at Lily. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had Muggle Studies yet? If you took the class, that is.’ 

‘That’s this afternoon. And finally Defence tomorrow; have you had a class with Professor Drake yet?’ 

Wick did frown at this, while Dory looked like she was trying to evaporate into the ether and leave them to it. ‘I have,’ he said tartly. ‘And the rumours of his appointment seem, for once, to have _underestimated_ him.’ 

‘Rumours?’ 

‘Apparently he received the post because he’s a _good_ friend of Professor Abernathy.’ His sneer was plain. ‘Even in my more dour moments, I had thought better of the company Professor Abernathy keeps. It’s an utter travesty that Professor Dumbledore’s allowed such a backwards fossil to teach at this school. He makes _Binns_ look like an enlightened progressive.’ 

Lily’s eyebrows reached her hairline. ‘That bad?’ 

‘And more! He’s -’ But Wick stopped himself, and his lips thinned like he had to master them or he’d flap on in indignation all day. ‘I won’t say I’ll leave you to be surprised, because the surprise won’t be pleasant. But if I get started I will _absolutely_ be here all day, and that does nobody good.’ 

‘I promise to gasp in astonishment when he shows his true colours.’ 

The corner of his lip curled. ‘Avoiding vomiting will be the hard part. Though I can’t help but wonder how many of the reprobates at this school will lap up his rhetoric.’ 

Lily glanced around the Great Hall and realised, with a sinking feeling, that she didn’t have the highest opinion of a lot of people here either. ‘Sometimes people can surprise us.’ 

Wick’s smile widened. ‘Cling onto that optimism. Time will try to chip it away. Speaking of…’ He checked his pocket-watch. ‘I have Transfiguration. _Do_ tell me how you get on with Professor Dearborn.’ 

She swallowed. ‘I will.’ 

Dory was triumphantly finishing off a muffin as Wick left, and brushed the crumbs off her robes as she declared, ‘You’re welcome.’ 

‘I -’ Lily’s head snapped around. ‘What?’ 

‘I put you in a bad mood with all these _truths_. So I thought I’d get Little Lord Fauntleroy over here to cheer you up. Don’t think I forgot him flirting with you at the party over whisky; I _never_ forget important things, Red.’ She tapped her temples. ‘So, you’re welcome.’ 

‘For providing me with nice conversation?’ asked Lily, glad her core temperature was dropping from embarrassing, flustered levels. ‘I _am_ grateful; God knows I don’t get it from you normally.’ 

They had barely been friends, spending most of their time together instead of their passing acquaintanceship of years gone by, for more than a week. But Dory beamed at the affectionate abuse regardless. ‘You have fun in Potions while _I_ have the morning off.’ 

That won this round decisively in Dory’s favour, because Lily couldn’t summon anything sufficiently withering before she conceded she did, really, have to head to class. Even if this meant trooping down to the cold and wet dungeons.

§ 

‘I feel I must widen my horizons,’ said James as he sat next to Remus at breakfast. Sirius breathed a silent sigh of relief to see the smirk hovering back about his lips, the tension gone from his shoulders. Whatever had been eating him that first day was gone, if only for now. Perhaps, Sirius thought resentfully, Evans was right.

‘It’s still the first _week_ ,’ Remus pointed out, brow furrowing with suspicion. ‘And first week of NEWTs, there’s lots to learn -’ 

‘Moony, Moony, why would I need to widen my _academic_ horizons? I already know everything, of course.’ James frowned, mock-thoughtful as he rested his chin on his hand. ‘But you ever think there’s just, like, _more_ to life?’ 

Remus’ expression didn’t change. ‘Who’re you planning on hitting next?’ 

‘I’m not _planning_ anything,’ James protested. ‘But now you mention it, it’s become _quite_ clear I need to move away from explosions and enter a whole new, whatsit, oeuvre.’ 

Sirius squinted. ‘Oeuvre-what?’ 

‘It’s French. It means “ways to upset people”.’ 

‘I’m pretty sure it doesn’t,’ Remus groaned, only to be ignored at the sudden yelps and uproar from the Ravenclaw table, and Sirius looked over his shoulder to see Dorothy Baddock and her little gang leaping to their feet. 

Someone has transfigured the teacups, and they’d come alive halfway through breakfast. One had upended its contents all over the food; another had manifested its own mouth and clamped onto Seventh Year Julia Bray’s nose. Three on Dorothy in particular had sprouted tiny arms and were now lunging into her hair, pulling and climbing, and she was flailing and squealing like they might have been spiders. 

Sirius roared with laughter, and wasn’t the only one, though plenty of people were rushing to help them. When he turned back to James, his best friend just wore an expression of serene, calm satisfaction. ‘ _How_ early did you get up to prep that?’ 

‘It turns out anything that’s not an explosion takes a lot more time and effort,’ James sighed, buttering toast. 

Remus grimaced. ‘You said -’ 

‘I said I’m not planning anything. I was in the execution stage. Would I lie to you, Moony?’ 

He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not answering that.’ 

Sirius reached across the table, still chortling, to swat Remus on the arm. ‘ _Unclench_ , mate. You’ve been walking around like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.’ 

‘It’s just NEWTs.’ Remus’ shoulders slumped, and Sirius suddenly realised how tired he looked, fresh strains etching into lines in the corners of his eyes. ‘There’s more work, and I know it’s the first week, but I really want to be on top of everything so when I miss classes it’s not so bad.’ 

‘Hey.’ James elbowed him gently. ‘We’re still here. We’ll take notes and pick up the slack, like always. Sirius and me have your back in Potions, and Pete’s got you covered for Arithmancy.’ 

‘Damn straight.’ Peter appeared at Sirius’ shoulder, and swung onto the bench next to him. ‘I’m all about the mystic numbers, me. I hear three and seven are important. Starting a little early, aren’t we, James?’ Without changing tone, calm and dismissive, he jerked his head back to where the Ravenclaw girls were just about being freed from their teacup attack. 

‘Why is nobody suspecting Sirius?’ James protested. 

‘Sirius looked surprised. Which is odd, I mean, you really didn’t have a _single_ wing-man on this one?’ Peter slopped scrambled eggs onto a plate, not skipping a beat in eating or interrogating as he multi-tasked. 

Remus’ frown shifted. ‘He’s right, James, that was a bit risky, wasn’t it?’ 

‘ _Risk_ ,’ said James, ‘is my middle name.’ 

‘Still Fleamont,’ Sirius muttered. 

‘And why _Baddock_?’ Remus continued, obviously now much more suspicious after Peter had drawn attention to the whole debacle. 

‘Well, she’s being a bitch, isn’t she.’ James shrugged. ‘Creeping after Sirius like that -’ 

‘Because Sirius has done such a _bang-up_ job of firmly shooting her down,’ Peter muttered. 

‘- and _then_ she split with Marlene. _Girls_ , right?’ 

Remus glanced across the hall, then looked at Sirius. ‘And where _is_ Marlene?’ 

Sirius swallowed a mouthful of eggs. ‘What?’ 

‘Marlene. Your girlfriend -’ 

He tried to not twitch. ‘We’re not joined at the hip.’ 

‘Much as he’d like to be,’ Peter crowed. ‘Front-ways. More like pelvis -’ 

‘Yes, thank you, Pete,’ Remus sighed. ‘We were all there already.’ 

‘I don’t know where Marlene is,’ Sirius protested. ‘Should I? We’re just _casual_. I mean, _yes_ , it would seem like she’s my girlfriend -’ 

‘And _yes_ , it would seem like this has ruined her friendships,’ Peter added helpfully. 

‘But that doesn’t mean I need to spend all day everyday with her!’ 

‘It’s fine,’ said James soothingly. ‘I got your back.’ 

Sirius looked at him across the table. Peter and Remus weren’t wrong; it _was_ odd for James to target someone like Baddock, and even odder for him to risk a prank in the Great Hall without so much as a lookout. But James was grinning again, so Sirius figured that was the only important thing. ‘At least _someone_ does,’ he said with gratitude, sticking his nose in the air. 

‘Bloody hell.’ Remus raised his hands in surrender. ‘I’m just asking. So I’m wrong, am I, Sirius? You really like the girl?’ 

Sirius again shovelled scrambled eggs in his mouth. ‘Course I do,’ he said after a delay of frantic chewing. What else could he say, really, when Marlene had lost her friends for this fledgling relationship? The time to turn her down was long passed, so here he was. ‘And, _fine_ , I’ll have lunch with her, or something.’ 

‘I’m not nagging,’ said Remus in the exact same nagging tone. 

‘Oh, hey, look at the time.’ James looked at his wrist-watch. ‘Potions o’ clock. I’ll partner with you, Moony, Sirius takes rubbish notes.’ 

‘I don’t need notes.’ Sirius grinned and tapped his temples. ‘Like a _steel trap_.’ 

‘Or a sieve.’ Peter did not get up with them. ‘Enjoy the _dungeons_.’ 

The huddle around the Ravenclaw mishap was smaller when the three of them passed, Professor Flitwick and a few well-meaning helpers around Dorothy Baddock and the others. Baddock was sat on a bench, red-eyed and sniffling, wild hair patchy in the odd place where tiny, ceramic hands had yanked out fistfuls, but James gave her a thumbs-up and a broad smile as they wandered by. ‘ _Loving_ the new style, Baddock.’ 

Sirius didn’t look up at this and headed quicker for the doors, but he heard Dorothy burst into tears anew behind them. A glance at Remus showed nothing but that set expression, the thin line of his lips which meant he really _was_ bothered but wasn’t going to say anything. That usually meant it was serious, so Sirius just cleared his throat and looked forwards. 

‘Oh, come on, guys,’ James protested once they were out the doors. ‘It’s _funny_.’ 

‘Hey,’ Sirius said instead, to distract from the edge of petty nastiness to this latest prank, ‘I wonder if Slughorn’s going to keep on leering after Evans this term…’ Because James was always relentless in picking fun and picking targets. But he’d rarely been _reckless_ \- that kind of bad planning was Sirius’ forte - and he wasn’t usually _cruel_. 

Even _if_ , Sirius thought as they wandered down to Potions, amongst the last of the crowds heading for class, Dorothy Baddock _was_ a bit of a bitch sometimes.

§ 

To Lily’s relief, Jack caught up with her as she reached the stairway down to Potions. ‘Hey! Hold up, there.’

She did pause, looking him up and down, from scruffy hair to creased robes. He cut a very different figure out of his leather jacket, for the robes were too small and his swagger less impressive without the padding in the shoulders. After the presence he’d commanded just standing at her door, now she realised why she’d been able to pay little attention to him these past five years. 

Then again, Dory’s update over breakfast suggested Jack Corrigan was not her only oversight. 

‘I didn’t see you at breakfast,’ she said. 

‘I slept in, didn’t I?’ Jack ran a hand through his messy dark hair, though unlike Potter’s preening, this looked like he just had no clue what a state he was. ‘It’s only brekkie.’ 

Lily opened then shut her mouth as they descended through the gloomy stairway to the dungeons. ‘Fine. I won’t lecture you. I’m not your mum.’ 

‘No, Mum’d give me a thick ear.’ He grunted as they had to squint through the dark patches between the blazing sconces. ‘So, summer’s bloody over. Just as well I’ve only got my emergency fags. Don’t fancy getting soaked for a smoke.’ 

‘Emergency?’ 

He opened the front of his outer robe and tapped the inside pocket, where a pack of Silk Cut sat snugly. He’d sealed it with sellotape. ‘This has gotta last me until Christmas. So I save it for special bullshit occasions.’ 

‘Remind me to stockpile in the New Year.’ 

His smile was humourless. ‘I tried that. Abernathy found my stash in fourth year, now he checks my trunk regular. Dipshit.’ 

‘He won’t,’ said Lily with a grin, ‘check _my_ trunk.’ 

He beamed and opened the door to Potions. The stench of disinfectant flew out, sharp enough to fill her nostrils and stop her dead in her tracks. And for just a moment, she wasn’t in the Hogwarts dungeons. 

White walls, the hum of a machine, the sound of someone sweeping outside, rattling breathing, and that smell. That smell, acrid, tangy, _clean_ , cleaner than anything had a right to be, clean like someone had taken all the grime of suffering and scrubbed until it made their skin raw - 

‘You okay?’ 

Jack’s hand at her elbow brought her back to reality, and Lily’s head whipped around to him. She hadn’t realised she’d frozen. When she tried to speak, her voice came out a low rasp. ‘Yeah.’ She swallowed, and tried again. ‘Yes. I just - I don’t like that smell.’ 

He wrinkled his nose, sniffing. ‘S’pretty horrid,’ he agreed, but he didn’t push it. 

His hand stayed on her arm as they walked into the classroom to find they weren’t first there. Slughorn sat at his desk, booming them a welcome, but Marlene McKinnon had already arrived and taken a seat on the second row. Lily frowned to see her pale, with bags under her eyes, and realised she’d not spotted her at breakfast. Nor had she spotted her much in the company of Sirius Black since term started, but everyone knew Dorothy Baddock, her supposed best friend, wouldn’t talk to her for the apparent betrayal of this new relationship - as if Black had been Baddock’s by rights. And now she was first to Potions, sat on her own, and without that usual bubbling enthusiasm Lily realised she’d unconsciously associated with her. 

She elbowed Jack gently. ‘Go sit with her,’ she muttered. ‘She’ll appreciate it. I need to talk to Sluggy, anyway.’ 

He made a face at ‘Sluggy,’ then looked at Marlene and made a _new_ face, this one communicating vistas of towering awkwardness at the prospect of having to say something nice. But Lily didn’t let him linger, heading over to Slughorn’s desk. ‘Professor?’ 

‘Lily, my _dear_.’ He pushed away his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , wide face creased by his beam. ‘It’s so good to see you again; I’m sure we’ll have a _brilliant_ two years.’ 

She’d been the one to find Mary in their dormitory, sobbing after Randal Mulciber’s attack. That memory rose now, fierce and vivid, as she looked into the watery eyes of her favourite teacher, and the man who was failing to enforce the school’s paltry requirement that Mulciber leave her alone. How many more times had Mary Macdonald curled up in bed and suffered with nobody knowing? 

She made herself smile. She did want something, after all, and it was more convenient than dealing with Dory’s revelation. ‘I was just asking - wondering - how you were going to assign partners for the next two years?’ 

Slughorn slipped sausage-like fingers through the handle of his mug. ‘Don’t worry, my dear, I won’t split up such a well-proven team as yourself and Severus -’ 

‘Do,’ she blurted. ‘I mean - I think it would be good if we could change up -’ 

Now his face fell and, with a glance over her shoulder towards Jack and Marlene, Slughorn stood and reached to touch her arm. ‘I didn’t realise,’ he said, voice dropping, and he tried for a reassuring smile. ‘I think I understand, my dear. I’ll take care of it.’ 

Lily nodded, not trusting herself to say more, and slunk back to the desks just as the classroom began to fill up. She suspected Slughorn now believed she and Severus had been in an actual relationship that had turned sour, but so long as he did what she wanted, she didn’t care. Even if it was changing how he looked at her. 

Six months ago, that would have mattered more. 

Jack and Marlene were silent when Lily got to the desk. He sat with his arms folded, staring straight ahead with a frown, while she waited, anxious, toying with a lock of blonde hair. Her awkward air suggested to Lily she’d already attempted conversation, and had probably only received monosyllabic grunting in response. But she was saved from having to save them by the last of the NEWT Potions class funnelling in - Snape and Avery last of all - and Slughorn stood. 

‘Don’t get comfortable!’ he boomed, clapping meaty hands together. ‘This won’t do, this won’t do at _all_. You’re NEWT students now, and I’m going to push you much, much harder than you’ve been challenged in OWLs. That’s going to include these hours together _not_ being chit-chat time. Yes, I will be _assigning_ your partners.’ He picked up the parchment he’d scribbled on and began to read out pairings, students shuffling places as he dictated. ‘Corrigan, leave those two lovely ladies alone; they’ll be working together while you’re with Potter.’ 

Lily gave Jack an apologetic look - she wouldn’t have wished Potter as a partner on anyone - but he looked blank as he grabbed his bag and slunk over to displace Black. Lily slid a seat over to sit with Marlene, who, still pale and looking tired, seemed relieved. 

‘I didn’t know you were friends with him,’ she murmured, voice a little squeaky as students shuffled around. ‘He’s so - don’t you find him a bit scary?’ 

‘I did see him kind of cower when he met my dad.’ Lily’s brow knotted. ‘That took off a lot of the edge off the whole leather-clad brooding thing.’ She saw Marlene put two and two together and get five, and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, no, we’re not -’ 

‘Hullo, hullo, hullo!’ Everyone had shuffled around now, so Slughorn’s voice rumbled over any possible insistence she was _not_ going out with Jack Corrigan. ‘And again, welcome to NEWTs! We’re going to hit the ground running today; turn to page thirteen of your textbooks…’ 

It turned out, as the class stumbled its way through the brewing of a Calming Draught, that Professor Slughorn was proving a cruel and unusual point. They were given very little supervision or prompting, just a recipe and a cupboard full of ingredients. And they were all, hotshots with Os or Es in their OWLs, absolutely terrible. 

But Lily’s brow still knotted as she shredded the ashwinder scales for the water Marlene was bringing to the absolute perfect temperature. ‘I’m not going out with Jack. We’re just friends.’ 

Marlene glanced over her shoulder to where Jack and Potter were entrenched in a war over who got to do the stirring. ‘He doesn’t seem the sort for _friends_.’ 

‘He’s not that bad.’ Lily paused. Jack’s reputation had not sprung from nowhere. ‘He’s not _always_ that bad.’ 

‘To truly learn,’ chuckled Slughorn, waddling back and forth down the classroom, inspecting the odd black and bubbling ruined concoction, ‘you must know how _little_ you know! I can’t tell you how many new NEWT students I’ve taught who thought they were geniuses! Not as easy as it was last year, is it?’ 

Lily eyeballed her quantities, and removed a few slivers of scales. ‘I’ve shredded this a little more than I should,’ she muttered. ‘The surface area’s going to be smaller, so we should add it more slowly.’ 

Marlene glanced over, and pursed her lips. ‘I’ll raise the temperature as we go, then, so it doesn’t boil the first shreds.’ 

_Good thinking_. Despite herself, Lily looked to Severus, partnered now with Shanti Dhawan. He was ignoring his new partner, nose too close to his cauldron, and she felt the old urge to tell him off before he got burnt. He looked as unperturbed as ever, cool in the face of a challenge, calm and focused. While Marlene was wiggling her fingers in apprehension and making soft, worried noises as she turned up the heat. 

‘That’s it, don’t boil too soon; take it nice and slow…’ 

‘Are you okay?’ Lily asked gently. 

Marlene turned pink, which was an improvement with how pale she’d been lately. ‘Um, I talk to my potion sometimes. It probably doesn’t listen, but _I_ feel better -’ 

Lily smiled. ‘Hey, if it works. I _meant_ , though, you’ve been - I’ve not seen you around a lot the last few days. You’ve not been at dinner much.’ 

‘Oh, I go to dinner. I get there first, I eat, I don’t stay. Because if I _stay_ , then I get the fun of being glared at by Dorothy or made fun of by Fifth Years who want to impress her…’ Marlene pulled her wand away from the flame under the cauldron as it threatened to spark brighter with her indignation. ‘It’s not very fun being there on your own.’ 

‘I’d heard _rumours_ -’ 

‘Of course; everyone _loves_ rumours…’ 

‘But I thought you and Dorothy were friends since first year? It’s that bad?’ 

Marlene sighed and looked to Black’s desk, just as he dropped in an ingredient and a cloud of brown smoke burst into the faces of him and Rufus Burke. Slughorn clucked with amusement, Potter somewhere roared with laughter, and Lily watched as Marlene’s lips curled fondly. ‘Sirius was supposed to be _hers_. So far as _she_ _’s_ concerned, _I_ _’m_ the traitor.’ Sirius Black’s most serious relationship, outside of suspicious co-dependence on James Potter and the seemingly happy romance with Mary Macdonald that stopped overnight, had been with his hairbrush. But here was Marlene McKinnon, smiling indulgently at him for a relationship barely a week old. 

_You poor girl._ Lily took over managing the heat on the cauldron. ‘Slice up those beans? Length-ways is better, the instructions always think we have butterfingers and can’t do the delicate work.’ She and Severus hadn’t earned their Os the easy way. ‘And, um, I know Jack might be a bit off-putting, but I’m in the library a lot. You should come join us.’ 

Marlene’s eyes brightened - then she hesitated. ‘Dorothy is going on the warpath for -’ 

‘I’ve never cared about Baddock. I don’t dislike her, but what’s she going to do? Persuade Jack or Dory to do _anything_?’ 

Marlene giggled. ‘It’s not a problem?’ 

‘It’s really not.’ Lily frowned. ‘Doesn’t - I mean, _surely_ you spend time with Black?’ 

She coloured. ‘Oh, yes, but not - not all the time and not every night, it’s still an early sort of thing and I know he’s busy and he has James and Remus and Peter to spend time with…’ 

Lily cut her off as the cauldron started to bubble over - but it was too late, and a thick, dark green liquid surged onto their desk. There was shrieking and dodging of gloop and yet more laughing - this time from Black, which Lily thought was a bit much - but Professor Slughorn said theirs was the closest to a result of anyone in the class. 

Once, this would have had Lily skipping from the classroom. Even six months ago, she’d have celebrated with Severus over a job well done, but while she and Marlene exchanged pleased smiles, her jubilation didn’t last long out the door. 

‘…so this relationship has _wrecked_ her friendships, though that one at least is _Baddock_ _’s_ fault,’ she complained down the corridor with Jack, the two of them last out because he stuck around to help her mop up the gloopy damage. ‘And he’s not even that interested in her, is he!’ 

Jack shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter much, does it, if _she_ fancies _him_.’ 

‘Yes, but for how long? He clearly prefers spending time with his cronies instead of her, even if her whole social life’s been _ruined_ for him. The least he could do is keep her company now he’s made her an outcast. But no! No, we must all bloody bow and scrape for an iota of attention from the great James Potter and Sirius Black, and it’s not _their_ problem if someone suffers!’ Lily threw her hands in the air, then saw his blank expression. ‘You don’t care.’ 

‘Not really,’ Jack admitted. They stopped at a branch in the corridor, and he jerked a thumb to the left. ‘Hufflepuffs have got Charms this afternoon. I better go get my textbooks before lunch.’ 

‘I should make sure Dory’s not gone back to bed.’ 

‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ he said, voice wry. So he was more cheerful when they parted ways, and Lily smiled to herself as she stowed her Potions textbook and carried down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower. 

It was nice to have friends who made her laugh. Severus once did, but over time his humour had turned more and more cruel, more and more pointed. Perhaps she’d have seen it sooner if her head hadn’t been buried in troubles at home, in the bubbling anxiety and then the grief. It had made him the one person who could understand, and so his faults were foibles to be overlooked. But even in the weeks before the outburst at the Lake, she’d found herself more and more awkward, biting her tongue more often, making excuses to slip away. If there hadn’t been Severus, there had been loneliness. 

Jack Corrigan was a brusque thug, but he made her laugh and she’d already seen him too awkward, too off-balance to take him too seriously. Oh, and he didn’t want her and all her kind dead, which was a point in his favour. 

Perhaps fate had sensed Lily thinking about Severus, though, because when she rounded the next corner between Potions and Gryffindor Tower, she walked flat into Alecto Carrow and her pack of Slytherin girls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you notice, we're starting to swap POVs this chapter. I was originally going to keep up just the one POV per chapter, but honestly that was starting to become limiting, making chapters bloated and leaving certain characters off-screen for huge swathes of time (which works for Alice, but less so the others). So consider the previous chapters to be the introductions of our POVs; we will only have the six POVs for Year 1, but I'll swap between them in a more traditional manner for my writing style.
> 
> Now, I actually figured this out by the time I was writing Chapter 14, so expect quite a few single-POV chapters in the meantime (and maybe after, who knows). Some chapters, like this one and the next one, have been hugely improved by sharing the attention. Others work better as stand-alone pieces.
> 
> Not that this affects you much - the story shall go on! - but honestly, it's been a learning experience!!


	8. That You Dare to Dream

_Someday I’ll wish upon a star,_  
_And wake up where the clouds are far_  
_Behind me._  
_-_ _‘Over the Rainbow,’ Judy Garland (1939)_

 

Alecto Carrow was taller than her, more solidly built, so she bounced on impact. Her satchel’s flap, not yet buckled, flew open and dumped unsecured Potions notes all over the floor, and Lily’s heart lunged into her throat with bitter nostalgia. It had been a few years since she’d crossed paths with the Slytherin girls. She’d hoped they’d all grown up beyond petty bullying, but now she had to wonder, with the pointed looks on her faces, if Severus hadn’t implicitly or explicitly won her immunity. Or, without Emmeline Vance around, the trio of Carrow, Rosalind Yaxley, and Clara Barkwith had new marching orders. 

And yet, the first word out of Lily’s mouth was, ‘Sorry!’ and, cheeks brightening in embarrassment and frustration with herself, she bent down to clutch at the discarded papers. 

Carrow’s shoe landed on the top sheet. ‘You really should be, Evans.’ 

Lily paused, letting her left hand drop by her side. Her wand was tucked away, in an inside pocket - when had she turned so soft? When had she stopped keeping it up her sleeve, ready for action, ready for anything? ‘It was an _accident_ , Carrow.’ 

Alecto Carrow glanced at her friends. Dark hair not as luxurious as she might have wanted was tossed over her shoulder. ‘That didn’t sound very sorry, did it? Penitence doesn’t last, clearly.’ 

‘ _Alecto_.’ The sigh came from Yaxley, further back. ‘Is this _really_ worth our time?’ 

Without Vance, there was no supreme leader. Vance would have set Carrow on her and kept Yaxley amused, not indifferent. This disagreement wasn’t just about clashing interests; Lily could almost _see_ the power-struggle tumbling out between them. But she couldn’t deny the struggle within; for every inch of her that wanted to spin some diplomatic agreement with Yaxley, another screamed in protest at subserviently slithering off. Her hand slipped inside her robes and found her wand, but then Lily’s eyes snapped up, met Carrow’s, and both girls froze. 

‘Don’t.’ Carrow said, voice soft. Her hand was nowhere near her wand, but the shift swung over Yaxley and Barkwith, both of whom reached for theirs. ‘You filth, you so much as _twitch_ and…’ 

‘She’s not _going_ to twitch.’ That was a new voice from down the corridor, back the way Lily had come, and her heart did loop-the-loops in her gut when she realised it was Vance. She must have doubled back to talk to Slughorn, or lingered in the dungeons. But whatever the reason, Lily wasn’t now facing three Slytherin girls of differing opinions; the ring-leader was here, and Vance had _never_ been hesitant. 

Her footsteps rang out on the flagstones as she approached, slow and deliberate. ‘I know you might like to think Muggle-borns all _dreadfully_ stupid, Alecto, but life isn’t that simple. You’ve given her time to grab her wand. You’ve given her time to think with it. Now, again, you might want to think her stupid, but if you’ve paid any attention, you’ll know there’s a risk Evans can silent cast. That means that while she’s got her hand on her wand and you’re busy _posing_ , _she_ _’s_ busy putting up spells, Shields, protections.’ 

Lily wasn’t. She couldn’t silent cast; they were expecting to cover that with Professor Drake. But something was off about Vance’s words; she spoke in too soft a sing-song voice, meandered with too little care for this to be a _genuine_ rebuking, a _genuine_ warning. 

Carrow’s gaze snapped up to Vance, and her expression did not turn kinder. ‘And all the time you’re condescending me, Em, you’re giving her more time.’ 

Vance had stopped a few metres behind Lily, folded her arms across her chest and was watching the proceedings with a look of supreme disinterest. ‘You gave her enough time the moment you let her grab her wand. That means if you go for her, Alecto, it’s not going to be a quick takedown. There’ll be spells. Casting. Shouting. _Noise_. And Sluggy will be up out of the dungeons for lunch at _any_ moment. So I ask you, Alecto, to think - and I know it’s difficult, because I always did the thinking for you. Isthis _really_ worth your time?’ 

Alecto Carrow’s shoulders were quivering with rage and indignation, but it was Yaxley who broke the stand-off, Yaxley who gave an impatient huff. ‘Come _on_ , Alecto, even Sluggy can’t turn a blind eye if he finds us like this.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Carrow’s expression set, and her gaze flickered to Vance. ‘Good job having our backs, Em. We’ll remember this.’ 

It was most certainly a threat, thought Lily, but she took advantage of Carrow and the others heading off down the corridor to snatch up her scattered papers. She did not let go of her wand, slipping it up her sleeve before she removed her hand from her robes - but then Vance was stood over her, one hand offering some lost papers, the other actually extended to help her up. ‘Here.’ 

Lily took a moment to shove the papers in her bag, keeping her wand-hand free as she accepted Vance’s help. It was impossible to not eyeball the taller girl suspiciously. ‘Thanks.’ 

A corner of Vance’s lips twitched. ‘Don’t mention it. I’ll probably pay for that later. Alecto’s easy to redirect, but once she gets an idea in her head she’s like a dog with a bone. So you should keep an eye out in case she tries for round two with you; nobody’s going to hold back for Severus’ sake any more.’ 

‘I didn’t realise that was why you backed off.’ 

‘It’s not.’ Vance glanced down the corridor the way the others had gone, one aristocratic eyebrow raised. ‘If I really hated you, Evans, _Severus Snape_ wouldn’t get in my way.’ 

Lily’s first three years at Hogwarts had been punctuated by jeers, sneers, hexes, and trips from Slytherins of all ages. But it had been Emmeline Vance who found the most cutting words about her looks or how she spoke, Emmeline Vance who set Barkwith to put soaked weeds in her robe’s hood after Herbology lessons, Emmeline Vance who could give her only a look and then Carrow would draw a wand and ready a hex. ‘Yeah,’ Lily blurted before she could stop herself, aware how ungrateful she sounded, ‘you’ve really expressed your _fondness_ for me in the past.’ 

Vance’s gaze flickered, and she looked back. ‘I’m not going to get mushy on you, Evans. But times change. I don’t _like_ you, but I’m not part of any _crusade_ -’ 

‘Vance!’ And, far too late to be of any use in the actual altercation, Dorcas Meadowes rounded the corner, arms out wide. ‘I knew I heard your voice, but I thought it couldn’t be! Don’t you send your winged monkeys to do your work?’ 

There was only the briefest eye-roll before Vance looked levelly at Dory. ‘I do,’ she said, voice cool, arms folding across her chest. ‘But I knew you’d be here, and they struggle to get _you_ off the ground.’ 

‘Okay!’ Lily lifted both hands to stop any more potential violence, and felt her wand slip further up her sleeve. She was going to have to do something about that. ‘ _Dory_ and I should go and get lunch.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Dory scrunched up her nose at Vance. ‘You could come with, but there might be pitchers of water there, so we’d hate for you to _melt_ -’ 

Which was when Lily grabbed her by the arm and started to frog-march her down the corridor, abandoning the route to Gryffindor Tower and heading straight for the Great Hall. She did, though, cast a look over her shoulder, mouth a silent, ‘thank you’ to the distant, solitary, austere form of Emmeline Vance. 

The nod she received back was curt but not, Lily thought, insincere. 

‘I came looking for you after I ran into Jack, but I didn’t think you’d be in trouble,’ said Dory once they’d rounded the corner, pulling free. ‘But _wow_. Who’d have thought Emmeline Vance would get a _Wizard of Oz_ reference, huh?’ 

‘Yeah.’ But Lily’s brow was furrowed, voice soft. ‘That’s totally the part that’s going to bug me.’

§ 

‘Don’t listen to McGonagall, it’s the _latest_ edition,’ Fletch reassured Stacey Stump, and slid the charms textbook across the table. They were in the library, hidden in a distant, back corner where nobody would go, and even if they did, nobody would be suspicious about trio of students sat with a stack of books. ‘All the chapters, all the right page numbers. It’s the same everyone else has, at two-thirds of the price.’

Stump flipped the book open, brow furrowed suspiciously. ‘And how do you afford to -’ 

‘Oh, don’t ask questions,’ Tracy Derby, sat next to her, admonished. ‘That’ll only make it worse if we get caught. Ignorance is bliss, Stace.’ 

Fletch leaned back and opened her hands. ‘You’re not wrong. But I’ll answer anything you ask. I’ve got friends in publishing.’ Technically, she had friends in _shipping_ with publishing, who were all too happy to let a crate disappear off an inventory of a shipment abroad and handle the transaction without pestering the shops. The law would, yes, call that theft. Fletch preferred to think of it as cutting out the middle-man. Or replacing it with a cheaper middle-man. 

‘Fine,’ said Stump after a moment’s thought, and put the coins on the desk. ‘We’ll take two. And this never happened.’ 

‘Trust me,’ said Fletch with an airy smile, pocketing the coins. ‘I have more to lose than you.’ 

Randal Mulciber could maraud Mary Macdonald and Alecto Carrow could prey on Karen Richmond and nobody would do anything, but she knew if she got caught selling stolen books they would expel her _immediately_. Cecil made some comment about submitting to the bonds of capitalism, but Fletch suspected he’d read about capitalism in a book and that was as far as his knowledge went. Cecil Stebbins was a smart guy, but perhaps the least worldly person she knew. 

Fletch still stopped to take meticulous notes as Stump and Derby left, now alone in her silent, distant corner of the library. It was all in a shorthand code, of course, the numbers accurate but nothing else. She wanted to know how much she’d sold and how much profit she’d made, but it wouldn’t do to write down evidence in case someone found the papers. So Charms books were bananas, and Herbology books were apples, and nobody would understand what the hell was going on if they suspected her of selling fruit. 

That didn’t mean she got complacent, and as she heard approaching footsteps she still slid the notes under the Ancient Runes essay she was pretending to work on. But while a glance up showed it was only Saul Avery rounding the stacks, that didn’t do much to ease the twist in her gut. ‘And what’s a gentleman like you doing in a place like this?’ she said, forcing an airy smile. 

His own smile was soft and slightly lopsided, and instead of taking one of the seats across vacated by Stump and Derby, he wandered up and perched on the desk next to her. ‘I’d say you could lure any gentleman astray, my dear… but I think we both know I’m not a gentleman.’ 

Her gaze flickered across him, from perfectly-tailored robes that showed off his trim figure, to artfully styled dark hair framing that narrow, aristocratic face. ‘I wouldn’t wish to cast aspersions on my finest customers. Because _I_ am a businesswoman.’ 

Avery’s smile widened and he opened his hands. ‘We’re all about business today, hm? None of the pleasantries? You must be pressed for time.’ 

Fletch swallowed and remembered Avery was at his most generous with money if he was indulged. ‘Not really,’ she said truthfully. ‘My deals for the day are done. I was just wrapping up here.’ 

‘Then grant me the indulgence of a little more of your time. And I _promise_ to make it worthwhile.’ He leaned in above her, head dropped - and then lifted his hand between them, a sickle between two fingers, and the smile grew dangerously playful. 

She looked at the coin a moment. ‘I don’t take payment just for meetings. It leads to bad feeling if I don’t want to commit.’ 

‘My dear, _commitment_ is never what I’d ask of you.’ But he straightened and lifted the coin, letting it roll across his knuckles as he spoke. ‘I talked about resuming last year’s arrangement. As the teams conduct their try-outs, I think it’s high time we got to business.’ 

‘Last year’s business arrangement _ended_. There’s nothing to resume.’ 

He smirked. ‘So I have to renegotiate?’ Avery’s free hand stretched out, and he brushed the back of her cheek with his knuckles. ‘That was fun last time.’ 

She managed to not freeze, managed to keep her smile playful, airy. ‘Just a change in rates. It was twenty galleons last year. I want twenty-five this year.’ 

A muscle at the corner of his jaw tightened before he dismissed the tension. ‘I’ll pay you fifteen now,’ said Saul Avery, ‘and another fifteen when Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup.’ 

Fletch had to bite her lip to stop agreeing outright to the chance at thirty galleons. ‘And if Slytherin _don_ _’t_ win the Cup?’ 

‘Then I don’t know what I’m paying for at all, my dear.’ 

‘You’re not paying me to win the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin. You’re paying me for information on every other team’s plans and tactics. If Mulciber doesn’t make use of the information or can’t beat them anyway, that is not my problem.’ She pushed to her feet, picked up the satchel that was much lighter now she wasn’t lugging two extra Charms textbooks around, and began to stow her paperwork. Even when trying to brush off Avery, she remembered to slip her sales records into the hidden section she’d made, the compartment masked in the lining. ‘I can haggle, Avery, but you can’t take me for a ride -’ 

She hadn’t expected him to move, which was why she didn’t react quick enough as she went to pass him. Because he stood suddenly, one hand came to her arm, the other to her hip, and the next thing she knew she was slammed back against the bookshelf behind her, and pinned there by his weight. He’d been measured, controlled; it hadn’t hurt, but it _had_ knocked the breath out of her, and all she could do was gasp as he leaned in, breath playing across her cheek. 

‘As I recall,’ Saul Avery whispered, and while she turned her face away, she shivered despite herself, ‘I most certainly _can_ take you for a ride.’ 

The bookshelf was solid enough it hadn’t rattled very loudly at her impact. But it might have caught someone’s attention, so the _last_ thing she needed to do was protest enough to lure in an investigation. Fletch drew a deep, shuddering breath, and made herself turn back to look Avery in his deep, dark eyes. ‘That was pleasure,’ she said, voice as clipped as she could manage. ‘This is business.’ 

His hand at her arm came up for him to trail his fingers along her jawline, then down her throat. ‘We both know they’re one and the same with you. Oh, don’t be so _tense_ , Fletch; you don’t have to play all coy when we’re out of sight like this, and _nobody_ is going to wander down this end of the library at this time of evening…’ His hand was slipping into the folds of her robes, now, fingertips on bare skin. So she did the only thing she’d known to work against Saul Avery, and when she pushed him back at the shoulder, she _didn_ _’t_ push him away. Instead she stayed close, spinning them so it was his back against the bookshelf, and even though he huffed with surprise and impact, she watched the pleased grin spread across his face. ‘Now _that_ _’s_ more like it…’ 

Fletch leaned in, and he bowed his head down - but all she allowed was the scrape of their lips together before she pulled back, teasing, taunting. When she spoke, she made sure her voice was that low rumble of gold on velvet she knew worked best on him. ‘Twenty-five galleons, Saul. Fifteen upfront. Full fee at end of service regardless of Slytherin’s scores.’ 

A low groan slid past his throat, but the smile didn’t subside, and he let her go. ‘Twenty-five galleons. You know, Fletch, some day you might want to try _actually_ dropping the business, and stick with pure pleasure.’ 

‘Maybe I will,’ she said as she stepped back, and he obligingly took out his coin purse to hand over the initial payment. ‘But much as I _adore_ the sheer _heft_ of your… bank balance, Avery, it won’t be with you.’ 

Then she left, heart thudding in her chest loud enough to deafen her, fighting to get her breathing under control as she tried to walk normally. Only when she was out of the library, down the corridor and around the corner, did she let herself gasp for air, clutch her arms around herself, and proceed with a bowed head and hunched shoulders for the Ravenclaw common room. She’d eaten early and gone to the library when most people would be down for dinner, all the better to meet Stump and Derby with less risk of being caught, and she was in the lull before the main fuss of the evening now, the quiet between dinner’s end and evening curfew. If anyone had business out of their common rooms, soon would be the time, and she wanted to be out of the way by then. 

Hurrying down a quiet spiral staircase, she was so caught up in getting through this back route to Ravenclaw Tower that she almost tripped over the figure sat on the steps. She stumbled, flailed, grabbed a railing - then strong hands had grasped her by the arms. If it hadn’t been for her up close and personal encounter with Saul Avery five minutes ago, she might not have minded running into and being caught by Sirius Black. 

‘Shit, Fletch, Filch isn’t after you, is he?’ 

‘Oh, Black. No, nothing like that.’ Their passing acquaintance was punctuated mostly by mutual flights from the meddling intrusions of Argus Filch. She righted herself, and shrugged off his hands, trying to not pull away too brusquely. ‘Thanks.’ 

‘No worries.’ He let his hands drop, and looked her up and down. ‘Seriously, are you okay?’ 

‘I’m… tired, that’s all.’ 

Sirius gave a bark of laughter and sat back down on the step. ‘Aren’t we all.’ He reached into his robes and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. ‘Want one?’ 

The idea of getting back to the Ravenclaw common room to have to deal with Hargreaves’ knowing look felt less urgent. She sat next to him and accepted a cigarette, snorting when she saw the brand. ‘You’re such a fucking pure-blood sometimes, Black.’ 

He grinned indignantly. ‘What?’ 

‘Marlboro? Really? With the cowboy adverts? Be honest, this is the only brand of fags you’ve _heard_ of, isn’t it.’ 

He stuck his cigarette between his lips, not giving up his grin, and lit up with his wand. ‘I like to think it gives me an air of _rugged mystique_.’ 

_You_ _’re such a fucking poser,_ she thought as he leaned back against the wall. ‘Mysterious as hell to hide out in a stairway, yeah.’ 

‘Almost as mysterious as you, running away from nothing.’ 

_A poser. But not an idiot,_ Fletch conceded, and took her first drag on the cigarette. She found them acrid but relaxing, because nothing in her life could be simply one thing or another. ‘I just off-loaded a bunch of books. Best to get far away from the scene of the crime. Speaking of which, you wanna buy a book?’ 

He laughed. ‘I’ve got all mine. Unlike everyone else, I _plan_ my life.’ 

‘Bullshit.’ 

‘Alright. I plan which subjects I care about and which ones I’ll sleep through. Namely, Divination. But, thanks.’ 

Most people were either underdogs with her, or treated her like a distasteful necessary evil. She was reminded how Sirius Black was one of the few people to be neither, to be friendly with no reason for it. So she had to take a long drag on her fag to overcome the taste of bile when she said, ‘I’m glad I caught you, actually. Quidditch season is starting.’ 

‘So Hogwarts’ favourite spit is making a book again?’ 

‘Spiv.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘I’m a _spiv_ , not a _spit_ \- never mind. But, yeah.’ It wasn’t a lie. She was spy to Avery, and bookie to the rest of the school. It was just the people who gave her information thought they were contributing to the gambling, not the cheating. ‘You’re still up for last year’s deal? As much information on the Gryffindor team as you can feed me, and you get a percentage of _all_ bets placed on Gryffindor matches.’ 

Sirius grimaced. ‘James is a bit -’ 

‘Potter’s _Captain_ now, information from him is _golden_. And it doesn’t _hurt_ , Sirius.’ She grinned an easy, lying grin. ‘It’s just the more I know about the teams, the more easily I can calculate the odds. It’ll be fun.’ 

He blew smoke out of his nose, then nodded. ‘Alright. Sure. Twenty percent.’ 

‘Bullshit, five.’ 

‘Ten?’ 

He was a terribly predictable. ‘Deal.’ Guilty that she’d lied to _and_ swindled him, she glanced over, looked him up and down. His grin seemed a little fixed now, gaze going detached, and she nudged his foot with hers. ‘So why’re you lurking in here?’ 

‘I wanted to be out of the way for a bit.’ 

‘Hiding from McKinnon?’ 

He stiffened. ‘What makes you think that?’ 

‘You don’t hide from the other three,’ she pointed out. ‘You usually hide _with_ them. So if you’re hiding alone, it must be personal. Your personal problem right now is Marlene McKinnon.’ 

His expression set in a way which told her she was right, and he seemed to realise quickly he’d given himself away. ‘You’re a Ravenclaw,’ he sighed. ‘How bad is it in the common room for her?’ 

‘I make a habit of not interfering in the business of Dorothy Baddock,’ Fletch said, and puffed on the cigarette. ‘I won’t lie, Black, it’s not great. But Marlene’s a smart girl. She keeps her head down and gets on with work. Reading. Studies. Keeps herself busy. It’s not your fault, you know.’ 

‘Not my -’ 

‘You’re not responsible for Dorothy being an overgrown toddler who’s treated you like a toy Marlene took away from her.’ She bit her lip before pressing on, suddenly daring. ‘And it’s not fair that the situation basically guilts you into staying with Marlene.’ 

His shoulders hunched in. ‘I like Marlene.’ 

‘Marlene McKinnon’s a sweet girl. But she’s a hyperactive, clingy, socially awkward pain in the arse. _I_ _’d_ ditch her after a week of fun.’ 

‘I don’t want to _ditch_ her, she’s not annoying, I don’t want to hurt her -’ 

‘Hey.’ She nudged his foot again. ‘I said it’s not your fault.’ 

Sirius tossed his cigarette butt away irritably, and flopped, hands clasped in his lap. ‘She’s nice. We have fun. But with the Baddock thing - I don’t know, suddenly I have to be _worth_ her friendships being ruined. So if I dump her, I’m the bad guy. If I stick it out and see something comes of it, but don’t _really_ mean it that much, I’m the bad guy. I should just drug myself with a love potion.’ 

‘Extreme,’ Fletch drawled. ‘But it does suck. I don’t know what you should do. I’m not much in the business of judging people.’ 

‘You might be the only one.’ 

‘If I judge people,’ said Fletch, stubbing out her cigarette on the wall, ‘it’s harder to take their money.’ 

He gave a grimace of a smile. ‘You’re also a simple person, aren’t you.’ 

‘No. I just pretend. Like you, Black. I know there’s more than girls and sawdust in there.’ She got to her feet, reached out impulsively to ruffle his hair. Sirius Black’s hair was, indeed, as smooth and soft as she’d expected, and of course fell artfully back into place despite her best efforts. 

‘It’s true,’ said Sirius, his smile suddenly less sincere, but much less tired. ‘Sometimes there’s music and Quidditch. I’ll talk to James for you.’ 

Fletch swallowed back the guilt as she left, and was grateful she made it back to Ravenclaw Tower without incident. A brief battle with the door-knocker later - ( _The more you have of it, the less you see. What is it?_ ) she was happy to be flopping onto a sofa in a corner of the common room next to Cecil, across from where Hargreaves sat up to her eyeballs in papers, books, and notes on flying horses. 

‘You’ve been smoking,’ said Hargreaves without looking up. 

‘What are you, my mother?’ 

‘I don’t disapprove. You should share.’ 

‘I don’t have any.’ 

Hargreaves sighed, rubbing her eyes, and pushed the papers away. ‘You’re no bloody use.’ 

Fletch squinted at her. ‘Have you been actually… _working_?’ 

Hargreaves stabbed her parchments angrily with a quill. ‘In a few days, bloody Graham bloody Mulciber’s bloody Granian horse is going to be here, and I’m going to have to bloody work with bloody Graham bloody Mulciber. He knows _more_ than me. I’ll be damned if I got to go crawling to him for what to do.’ 

‘She’s been like this all evening,’ said Cecil, looking like Hargreaves’ bad mood had rather frayed his nerves. 

Fletch continued to watch Hargreaves dubiously. Those who cared about grade rankings would repeatedly point out how Hargreaves got the lowest marks of any Ravenclaw in their year, often in the bottom five. That she’d chosen to do five NEWTs had been a shock to anyone. And yet, Fletch knew full-well Hargreaves wasn’t stupid. When they’d met, she’d been a bright-eyed First Year, a Muggle-born enthused and excited to learn all about this new, magical world she’d been in. Somewhere down the line, excitement had turned to cynical disinterest and slumping marks. This was, perhaps, the first time she’d seen Hargreaves working off more than one book at once _ever_. 

‘How is it, working with Mulciber the Lesser?’ 

‘Oh, I’m sure a bigot like him’s going to be a _treat_ ,’ Hargreaves growled, writing on parchment like she was carving stone. 

‘But he’s one of the _less_ bad ones -’ 

‘That’s not saying much.’ Then Hargreaves stiffened, and when she raised her gaze, her eyes were tired. ‘No.’ 

Fletch tried her most innocent smile. ‘ _Please_.’ 

‘No! I will not spy on him -’ 

‘You don’t need to spy! He’s the Slytherin Seeker! You just need to _ask_!’ 

‘No!’ 

Fletch drew a deep breath. ‘Five percent of the take on all Slytherin matches.’ 

‘Twenty.’ 

‘Ten.’ 

‘Twenty.’ 

Fletch frowned. ‘I’m not sure you get this haggling thing.’ It was a different sort of terrible to Sirius’. 

Hargreaves clicked her tongue. ‘You need me.’ 

‘ _Fine_. Twenty. Mate’s rates. Just don’t tell anyone else.’ 

‘That I’m actually talking to Graham Mulciber instead of suffering through gritted teeth? Not bloody likely.’

§ 

When James said, ‘let’s teach the First Years to defend themselves,’ Sirius didn’t think it would end up with a fight club in the abandoned Gryffindor bathroom.

It was a relic from days gone by, when Hogwarts’ student intake was bigger, and a whole lower wing of the Tower dormitories were occupied. Technically, this was locked off. But there was not a technicality in the school which could stop James Potter and Sirius Black once they had an idea in their heads. 

Normally, they didn’t need it. Normally, it was just the four of them in their dormitory, free to hatch whatever schemes they fancied or pass time without wandering intrusions or lingering eavesdroppers. James had once put a sticking charm to the outside of their door, begun to loudly explain his plan to body-swap Filch and McGonagall, and opened up an hour later to find a pair of Second Years held fast. Remus, his prefect’s badge at the time untarnished by exhaustion and hypocrisy, had taken pity on the pair and released them. 

It had been a kinder fate than given to most intruders into the Marauders’ affairs. One summer, the wireless pounding with Taliesin’s newest, toe-tapping beat - all the better to hide their voices as they plotted - a First Year had burst into their room and broken into the most outrageous dance. He had been indulged because he’d amused James, which was almost the litmus test - cheered by Sirius, with sweets thrown his way like confetti by a laughing Peter. But that had only been once. When the dancer’s friend tried the same trick the day after, James had tied him to shoulder-to-ankle to a bedpost, and the four had left him there until dinner while they went to class. 

So it was odd for them to act nefariously in Gryffindor Tower outside of their dormitory, and odder still for James to involve anyone else. Even if they _were_ , Sirius suspected, the targets. 

‘They hardly know any _spells_ , Prongs,’ Sirius pointed out, following James down the winding stairway for the gloomy, leaking, abandoned toilet block. 

‘We learnt!’ 

‘Yes, but we’re _brilliant_. This lot look so wet behind the ears you could wring them out. What’re they going to use on Slytherins, a mangled incantation and harsh language?’ 

‘Nah.’ James waved a hand. ‘McGonagall’ll kill us if we’re teaching Firsties how to swear.’ 

McGonagall would, Sirius suspected, kill them for trying to turn First Years into their own private army. Then again, if Professor McGonagall found out half the shit they’d got up to over the years, not even starting on being illegal Animagi, they’d be dead about fifty times over just by her sheer disapproval. And yet, he didn’t know why this scheme was sticking in his throat. It wasn’t dangerous, unless things got really out of hand. It was positively civic-minded for them, in concept if not in execution. And yet… 

‘Is there a reason we’re not telling Moony and Wormtail?’ 

James gave him a funny look as they pushed through the last door into the dank, dark toilet. ‘We do _loads_ of things without telling them. Don’t tell me you’re going _soft_ , Pads.’ 

_Oh. There it is._ It was true that they got up to plenty without Peter and Remus. In Remus’ case, what he didn’t know wouldn’t erode his soul as he failed to report them for it. But in general, James and Sirius didn’t wait for the others when it came to spur-of-the-moment indulgences. This was no such thing. Sirius was pretty sure Remus would shit a brick if he knew what was going on, and then there was the scathing note in James’ voice. He might sometimes sound like that when Peter was being a bit of a chicken, or Remus was being an especial stick-in-the-mud, but he _never_ spoke to _Sirius_ like that. 

Sirius growled to himself as James’ wand flicked out to bring the sconces to life. ‘I’m not going _soft_. Just a First Year ended up with a bloody nose the other night.’ 

James chuckled fondly. ‘Rakesby’s got a nice right hook, doesn’t he?’ 

‘Someone’s going to ask _questions_.’ 

‘Of course they will.’ James rolled his eyes. ‘ _Why are First Years looking a bit beat up_? They ask that when they know it’s just joshing and hijinks, but Merlin knows they wouldn’t ask that if the First Years were being brutalised by Mulciber. _That_ _’d_ require Sluggy and Abernathy to _do_ something about it!’ 

‘McGonagall might!’ 

‘McGonagall can’t be everywhere at once, Sirius! _We_ _’ve_ barely seen her all week, and _we_ _’re_ her favourites.’ James beamed, as if their ongoing, unintentional mission to give Professor McGonagall an aneurysm was the path to her affections. ‘She’s far too busy doing Dumbles’ job. Someone’s got to prepare these snotty First Years for their brush with brutality.’ 

Sighing, Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t have an awful lot of answers to that, and there was still that hard line to James’ face. Which meant it was time to change the subject, because Sirius had no idea how to actually deal with this. ‘Is this going to take long? I promised I’d meet Marlene out of the library at nine.’ 

James gave him a scathing look. ‘This is going to take more than an hour, mate. She’s a bit needy, isn’t she?’ 

‘Hey!’ Sirius’ jaw worked with indignation. ‘ _You_ were the one who dared me to flirt with her!’ 

‘Let’s be fair.’ James lifted his hands. ‘It was a _bet_ , and you _won_. I didn’t think even you could charm her into a snog in one night - and I think it was her first snog, _well done_ , Prongs.’ 

‘Yeah, I’m not feeling great about that -’ 

‘Then dump her?’ James gave him a nonplussed look. ‘The bet was for one night. I didn’t demand you tether yourself to some needy blonde thing for the whole year. If she’s yanking your leash, I _regret_ it.’ 

Sirius forced a smile. ‘Dog jokes not cool any more, mate.’ The joke was sincere; his awkwardness came from the set of James’ brow. 

James’ gaze finally turned sympathetic. ‘What’re you going to do?’ 

Sirius grimaced. ‘The only thing I can do. The responsible thing.’ 

‘Stand her up tonight, keep brushing her off, and wait for _her_ to dump _you_?’ 

Remus would have _glared_ at them for that. Peter - people-pleasing Peter, with his odd success with women because nobody expected much of him - would have raised an eyebrow. James actually seemed sincere, which reminded Sirius that for all James was their ringleader, there were some matters where he was truly inept. Women were one such matter; even Remus, for all he kept his distance from girls, had the _theory_ down better. 

‘That’s what I mean,’ Sirius said anyway, because there were times he wasn’t much better than James. He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Though how’re _you_ , mate, now you’re not mooning over Evans any more?’ 

James shrugged, and the frown returned. ‘Nowhere. Quidditch and classes are more important. Girls are a distraction.’ 

Calling girls a distraction wasn’t new from James. In truth, Sirius suspected he flirted with Evans to irritate her more than anything else; it was a passing fancy that had become a tool in his arsenal to wind up the only prefect who’d ever try to get in their way. So this wasn’t what worried him. James listing the importance of _classes_ in the same breath as _Quidditch_ was a far bigger concern. 

But then the door swung open, and little Henry Rakesby - eleven and stringy and yet, apparently, with a mean right hook - strolled into the toilet at the head of a gaggle of First Years, and James’ frown faded for a toothy, lopsided, almost cruel smile. 

‘Alright, pipsqueaks.’ He folded his arms across his chest, wand clutched between his fingers. ‘Welcome back. Last time, you learnt how to take a hit. This time, you’ll be dishing them out.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On an unrelated note, I've finally decided to abandon all the fuss of combining my fanfic interests with my regular Tumblr, and work on a Tumblr blog focused just around my fic. Hope for update news, sneak peeks, and blog entries [here](http://itsslide.tumblr.com/).


	9. Make Me Smile

_You_ _’ve done it all, you’ve broken every code_  
_And pulled the rebel to the floor._  
_-_ _‘Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me),’ Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel (1975)_

 

‘I was doing…’ Sirius paused, hefting his bag on his shoulder. ‘You know. Stuff.’ 

Marlene pursed her lips, but instead of calling his bullshit, she started to fuss with her hairclip. That worked fine for Sirius; it meant he didn’t have to look her in the eye as they stood in the door to the Great Hall, facing off like they were about to have a boxing match of awkwardness. ‘I waited at the library for half an hour.’ 

‘Yeah, I was - helping James.’ It wasn’t a lie, but he didn’t press the point. Marlene probably wouldn’t appreciate being stood up so he could help James supervise six First Years beating the snot out of each other ostensibly for their own good. Rakesby had split his knuckles on Thatcher’s cheek, and Sirius had no idea how they were going to bluff their way past McGonagall this morning. ‘He’s been really _down_ lately. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m worried about him.’ 

Bright blue eyes softened with concern, perhaps because it was easy for Sirius to sound genuine. He _was_ worried about James. ‘Is he okay?’ 

‘He’s… sharper. Distanced. He’s my best mate, and I don’t know how to help him.’ Genuine worry merged with Sirius’ desperate desire to not make her cry in public, and made him sound ardent, doleful, like he was shouldering the burdens of the world. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t stop by, but I thought I’d try to cheer him up. He needed it.’ 

Marlene looked past Sirius to the Gryffindor table. James was savagely stabbing his bacon hard enough to shatter it. Sirius suspected his frown was because the bacon was over-done, but it lent him a sense of early-morning malaise which worked to his purposes. ‘I didn’t realise,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Sirius blew his hair out of his eyes and let his shoulders slump in a long-suffering manner. ‘It’s okay. I should have sent a message. But I’ve gotta be there for him, you know?’ 

‘No, I know.’ She reached out to touch his arm, smile small and hopeful. ‘You’re a good friend. He’s lucky.’ 

He couldn’t help but notice her glance at the Ravenclaw table, at Dorothy Baddock and Shanti Dhawan, her former accomplices now making sure she was a social pariah. Guilt wormed in his gut, but it was quickly dismissed. This was better for _both_ of them than a public row. ‘How about I come by the prefects’ office after your patrols tonight? You can punish me for being out after curfew.’ 

She turned bright red, and he grinned. It was hard to not feel good about how easily he could leave her flustered. ‘I, um, uh…’ 

‘I knew you wouldn’t say no,’ said Sirius, lopsided smile like a knife through all guilt and tension, and he leaned down to kiss her before she could object. 

‘That’s enough of the public indecency, Black!’ called Professor Abernathy, a head shorter than even Marlene as he waddled through the door. ‘This is a school, not a sleazy bar!’ 

The objection from the Head of Hufflepuff was punctuated with a clip around the ear. It didn’t sting, but it was reminiscent enough of his mother’s sharp hand that it had Sirius turning away from Marlene, jaw tight, shoulders squared. ‘Of course it’s not a bar, sir. If it were, people would be eating, laughing, talking, _drinking_ …’ He turned to the Great Hall at breakfast. ‘Oh, _wait_ …’ 

Abernathy’s face was both bulbous and rat-like; his long nose was pointed but his cheeks chubby, eyes dark and deep-set, and his bald scalp rose like a dome out of thin, stringy grey hair. ‘Don’t try to be smart, Black.’ 

‘With you teaching, sir? No fear of that.’ Tension over James and Marlene and indignation at Abernathy made him bold, but also foolish. Thus by the time he was out of the altercation, scant minutes later, and sliding onto the bench next to Peter, across from James and Remus, it was with a tired, doleful air. 

‘So, can someone sub for me with my girlfriend tonight? Abernathy gave me detention because he’s a weasel.’ 

‘What did you do?’ Remus hesitated, then lifted his hands. ‘Don’t tell me. You talked, and it happened.’ 

Peter perked up. ‘I’ll look after Marlene,’ he offered. 

Sirius shot him a look. ‘ _No_.’ 

‘What, you’re _threatened_?’ 

Remus glanced at Peter. ‘Aren’t you seeing Tracy?’ 

‘We don’t like to put labels on it,’ said Peter airily, buttering his toast. ‘But why’re you assuming I’m going to try and _steal_ Sirius’ girl? I do know how to _talk_ to women, you know.’ 

Sirius eyed him dubiously. Somewhere in the last year or two, Peter had gained height without much weight. He still wasn’t tall, and bulk hadn’t transformed into muscle, but it made him somehow charmingly chubby. The transformation had not just been physical; it was as if his self-esteem was on a horseshoe curve, and it had plummeted so low he no longer cared what people thought of him - except, of course, his three friends. But to everyone else he was inoffensively self-effacing, good-humoured without being attention-seeking, and so quick to assume other people were more important than him that it made him oddly considerate of their needs. This eagerness to please and lack of posturing had in the last six months rendered him bewilderingly successful in romance. 

While Sirius was still unsure how to stop stringing along the year’s dorkiest blonde, Remus had innocently snogged Shanti Dhawan last January after a Quidditch match and then brooded like a champion about it for months, and James was patently disinterested in _anyone_ right now. 

‘ _I_ _’ll_ keep Marlene company,’ Remus offered. ‘We should try to make an effort with her if she’s sticking around, anyway. I’ll try to wrangle patrol duties with her.’ 

Peter huffed but tried to not grin, amused he was finally seen as a threat. ‘She should stick around. She’s cute.’ 

‘And smart. And far too good for Sirius.’ Remus was smiling over his tea, but Sirius could see the glint in his eye. It was a gentle warning, a mild admonishment, and so Sirius looked away. He knew Remus suspected he was stringing her along, and disapproved. But he’d hit the roof if he knew about the bet. 

So Sirius didn’t dignify this with an answer, looking down at James. ‘Alright, mate?’ 

‘Huh? Yeah.’ James had his nose in the sports section of the _Prophet_ , and Sirius realised he’d not listened to the conversation at all. ‘Try-outs tomorrow. We better find a new Beater.’ 

‘And a new Seeker,’ Peter muttered. 

‘What?’ Sirius frowned. ‘Cresswell’s alright.’ 

‘He’s _alright_ ,’ James conceded. ‘But he’s not better than little Mulciber.’ 

Sirius clutched at his chest. ‘Accepting Slytherin superiority? Say it’s not so!’ 

James did give a small smile at this, and Sirius’ heart surged. ‘I don’t underestimate my enemies. I’ll beat Slytherin by recognising their strengths. And Mulciber the Lesser’s their biggest strength. Mary, Kingsley and I can demolish their Chasers.’ 

They let James keep talking Quidditch, because it guaranteed he’d be loquacious if his mood was low today. Without consultation, all three of them encouraged this, asked questions, and Peter wilfully blundered on his Quidditch knowledge a few times so James could take great pleasure in correcting him. It carried them through breakfast, then along the corridors on the brisk walk to the first lesson of the day, Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

It was not their first session with Professor Drake. But the first session had been what every year’s first lesson consisted of: the teacher getting to grips with how far along they were, and _who_ they were. Continuous staff turnover did nobody any favours, and Sirius had long ago given up caring what his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher thought of him. They’d not be around long enough for it to matter. 

Every new Defence teacher also redecorated the room, and under Drake the walls boasted framed documents and newspaper clippings, shelves of hefty tomes which turned out to be more legalese than ancient, mysterious knowledge of monsters. Enough people took the subject that it was one of the few classes split down by Houses; only Charms had more popularity. So the Marauders could sit together without issue, and Sirius hissed, ‘ _nerd_ ,’ at Evans as she and Dory took the front row. Dory kicked him in the ankle for his trouble; she’d taken against him about a year ago, despite the drinking contests, and he wasn’t sure why. 

‘Potter,’ came a whisper from behind, and Sirius and James looked back to see Mary Macdonald leaning over her desk, expression mock-urgent. ‘You all ready for try-outs?’ 

James grinned at her, though Sirius could see the edge of the forced expression, like a sticker he could peel off. ‘Of course.’ 

‘Cresswell still going for Seeker?’ Mary perked up. ‘Because if not, I could try-’ 

‘Hey, no! I like my Chasers how they are!’ 

Sirius turned back to the front and pledged to not get involved. Mary had often lamented to him how she’d only tried out for Chaser because the Seeker in their Second Year was well-established. Then when he’d left, Cresswell had been his reserve and Podmore had given him the position without opening it back up. Mary was a good Chaser, but it wasn’t what she _really_ wanted to do in Quidditch - and yet, the thought of changing his tidy team left James looking aghast. 

Neither of them needed him weighing in on their behalf, though, so Sirius tuned out. This meant, at least, he noticed when the classroom door swung open and the tall, dark, austere figure of Professor Drake himself slipped in. Like a shadow he stalked past the chittering Sixth Years, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, gaze severe. But even though Sirius was one of the first to shut up, elbowing James a warning, Drake’s eyes still landed on him as they passed. ‘Black. I hear you’ve earned a detention already today; I suggest you don’t repeat such misbehaviour.’ 

And nothing could have upset Sirius more about their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher than the realisation he was a friend of the well-connected, insipid Professor Abernathy. 

But Drake didn’t wait for him to respond, merely swept to the front with a flurry of dark robes and planted pale, long-fingered hands on his desk. ‘You will all _listen_ ,’ he said in a curt voice, as if they had been intentionally babbling over him instead of in the usual pre-lesson chatter and hadn’t all realised he was there. Even James turned sharply for the front at this, lips a thin line, and Sirius was dimly relieved he wasn’t the only one to find their teacher’s tone niggling. 

‘Good,’ said Drake softly, but his approval was subdued, as if they had met only his lowest expectations. ‘After assessment of your capabilities, I am sure now of how to proceed. Your practical work has been quite successful thus far, but as a whole, Hogwarts is sorely lacking on the academic and theoretical. Defence Against the Dark Arts is not merely _hexes_ ; the odds that you’ll be attacked in the streets of Diagon are insignificant indeed.’ 

He turned to the blackboard, and Sirius could see Evans cock her head, see the tension in her shoulders. He would have grinned at her obvious indignation, but the breathing of an oath from Mary behind him was a stark reminder that this wasn’t the fussy redhead being awkward. Those two were the most likely in the room to be murdered, in this day and age. 

‘You know what you _can_ do,’ Drake continued, oblivious or uncaring of the reactions. ‘And in this day and age, you are surely all aware of the many, _many_ legal restrictions around what you _should_ do? _When_ is it appropriate, legally, to fire a hex? To what lengths can you go in the name of self-defence?’ He looked over his shoulder, deep-set and dark eyes glinting on the gathered Gryffindors. ‘Anyone. You.’ He gestured curtly at Dorcas Meadowes. 

Dory coughed. ‘Um. You should only be removing the immediate threat, right? So there’s no reason to cast more than a Stun, right?’ 

His lips thinned with obvious disapproval. ‘An adequate paraphrasing of the law. Ministry rule rants about ideas such as “ _necessary_ ” and “ _proportionate_ ” in the name of defending yourself. Because Ministry rule is far more interested in ensuring the safety of your attackers than ensuring _your_ safety.’ 

It was like someone had blown cold air on the back of Sirius’ neck. There was nothing wrong he could see with Drake’s words; he was ready and willing to believe Ministry legislation a choking mess without regard for reality. And yet something, somewhere, set off alarm bells in his head. 

‘You will have no doubt been taught,’ Drake continued, ‘to double-check yourselves. To hold back wherever possible. To restrain yourselves, at the expense of your own safety and the safety of your loved ones. Now.’ He looked flatly at Dory. ‘You shouldn’t keep your hair like that; nobody will ever hire you when it’s bright blue.’ Sirius could see Dory open her mouth, but Evans elbowed her before she could get off something smart, and Drake either didn’t notice or didn’t care. ‘I am professionally obligated to tell you the law. I am not professionally obligated to tell you the law is _sensible_. The Ministry will protect more or less everyone who isn’t _us_.’ 

Remus stiffened, Evans’ hand shot up, and Sirius realised why Drake’s rhetoric was worrying him, not exciting him in its rebelliousness: it sounded a lot like his father’s ranting around the dinner table. 

‘Which _us_ , sir?’ asked Evans, voice sickly-sweet. ‘Us as humans, or us as wizards?’ 

‘Both,’ said Drake blandly. ‘The last forty years of Ministry legislation have seen protections for Muggles increase tenfold, _even as_ their technology has been advancing to rates which threaten our secrecy and even our survivability. Their media and its reach has expanded, making secrecy far more difficult, and personal weapons are more sophisticated and available. And that’s just Muggles; the weak-willed legislators of this century have even decided we should value the lives of centaurs and other sub-humans over our own.’ 

Which was the moment Sirius realised why Remus specifically had gone tense, and he found his hand rising despite himself. 

‘Sirius,’ Remus muttered. ‘No -’ 

But Drake was calling on him, and Sirius drew a deep breath. ‘So, if we were attacked by, say, a centaur, we should kill them even if we _could_ drive them off?’ 

‘You have clearly never been in a fight, Black,’ said Drake. ‘You cannot stand there and calmly measure that _this_ much force or _that_ spell will _certainly_ incapacitate. You should not restrain yourself in fighting such a creature. They are dangerous and unpredictable; you may be able to assess what power may incapacitate or drive off a human, but a centaur, a vampire, a werewolf - they are all difficult to stop. Do not endanger yourselves unduly for their sake.’ 

‘But _sir_.’ That was Evans again, much to Sirius’ relief. He kept casting glances over at Remus, who drummed the nib of his quill against parchment. He hadn’t dipped it in ink, but the stained tip left dots across his paper, punctuation to his tension and apprehension. A muscle worked away in the corner of his jaw, and he did not seem reassured that Evans was pressing the point. ‘A werewolf is a member of wizarding society when _not_ transformed.’ 

‘This is debatable. While legislation might strictly say that, I would be astonished if the Wizengamot _actually_ convicted a good, decent wizard for protecting themselves against such a dangerous creature. Though we can never trust what the legislative legacy of Minister Jenkins will have to say for itself.’ 

‘Really.’ Remus’ voice came like it was shot through a sandpaper gun barrel, and even Drake stopped with surprise at the interruption. Sirius looked at him, startled, and saw the pink pinpricks at his cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t we be more worried about actual witches and wizards killing people than the hypothetical risk from hypothetical werewolves? And centaurs?’ 

_Hypothetical. Good work, Moony. Nice and subtle._ Sirius coughed into his hand, but then there were mumblings of assent from around the room, most especially from Mary behind him and Evans ahead. That, he thought with relief, might distract the issue. 

Drake peered at him. ‘Lupin, isn’t it? Your father was a good man. His absence from the Ministry has been felt, no doubt.’ He shook his head. ‘Despite the hysteria of the media, good, honest wizarding folk have nothing to fear from the wider magical world. _I_ must prepare you for the world you _will_ live in, where these _persistent_ dangers and dark creatures will threaten…’ 

And then onward, and into legal considerations and their limits. It could have been, Sirius thought idly, quite interesting. Their previous teachers had not worked them much through the restrictions society would place upon them, the responsibility of having the power to wield their wands with such fierce results. It was clear, furthermore, that Drake knew his stuff, and Sirius had the sneaking suspicion he had indeed come to Hogwarts from the law-writers of the Ministry - but likely a long time ago. He spoke of the law with judgement and dismissal, leaving Sirius with the impression he was teaching them more how to act with impunity and exploit loopholes, or toe the line without being caught. 

And every now and then he would make a comment about beasts in general that would have Remus bristle, or a comment about current threats being ‘only’ to ‘mere’ Muggles which had Evans tilt her head in that bitchy way of hers. For Remus’ part, he said nothing more that lesson and was the first out the door, bursting into the corridor with such a speed that Sirius, James and Peter had to almost knock Stacy Stump over to follow him. 

‘That - he -’ Remus didn’t try talking until he was far down the corridor, and then when he tried, bright-red and gesticulating wildly, the words didn’t come. ‘ _How_? How on _Earth_ can that bigot, that _relic_ , that _bastard_ be allowed to teach here? _How_ can Dumbledore allow it? How can he do - do all he has for - for _people_ and then take on someone who spouts -’ 

‘Remus, breathe before you burst into a big old ball of fur in the middle of the stairway,’ Sirius said as he hurried after him, voice low, urgent. 

‘Or just yell and out yourself,’ James agreed, flanking him on the other side, his frown and his own worries gone from sight. 

‘And for Merlin’s sake,’ added Peter, ducking under Sirius’ arm and thrusting out an arm, ‘have a bon bon to calm down.’ 

‘This is no time for _bon bons_!’ Now _everyone_ \- not just the Marauders - came up short to stare at Remus and his explosion in the middle of the corridor, and he didn’t seem to care, hands in the air, eyes wide, chest heaving with indignation. 

Sirius could see the frantic glint entering Remus’ eye, the hunted, cornered look he got sometimes when _really_ rattled. So he looked sideways at Peter, forlorn as he clutched his paper bag of sweets, and let out a low whistle. ‘You know, Petey,’ he said, ‘he’s right. This is no time for bon bons. I think we need to crank it up a notch.’ 

Peter’s eyes glinted with realisation, and he stuck his hand back in his pocket. ‘Oh, I get it. Sorry. Of course, that was silly of me, underestimating the situation like that.’ He came out clutching a fresh paper bag. ‘Jelly baby?’ 

‘You’re all amateurs,’ James scoffed, and around them the students bustling between classes looked like they’d lost interest in the whole scene. ‘Sure, _we_ can eat the bon bons and jelly babies. But it won’t be half so good as slipping a dozen pepper imps into Drake’s food right before he teaches the Slytherins. See how many he can set fire to.’ 

Remus did laugh at that, a laugh which took tension from his shoulders and crinkled the corners of his eyes. ‘ _How_ ,’ he said, ‘are you going to lace his food?’ 

‘It’ll be easy,’ said Sirius. ‘We’ll grind them down and swap pepper shakers at the top table. Come on, Moony, it’s just one more piss-streak teacher; let’s go have entirely unaltered lunch.’ 

And Remus did cooperate, with Peter handing out sweets even if they were heading down to their meals, and James jabbered on about his latest schemes of the hell he would unleash on Professor Drake as if he hadn’t been a moody bastard all morning. So Sirius wandered with them, and could almost pretend James’ good mood would persist beyond the immediate need to cheer Remus up - and that Remus, who let Sirius put a hand to his back and steer him towards the Great Hall - wasn’t still a mess of knotted muscle a sailor would be proud of, even if he laughed.

§ 

Only this high could he finally find silence.

Hogwarts gleamed below, flickering lights spilling into darkness like gold slung into deep, rippling waters. But he could not hear the voices; the mewling bickers of students in the halls, the chants of teachers bringing all to heel. Even his teammates he’d left far behind, Quidditch practice petering out, those who remained airborne hovering about the hoops and the stadium. Other Slytherins slunk back towards the castle, released by his brother, while only a smattering lingered to watch. 

From above even the highest of Hogwarts’ towers, they might as well have been gnats. More important was the wind and its buffeting of his broom, the gathering dusk and its clouding of his view; even his heartbeat, a too-fast thump tapping away the dwindling of ticking time. There was nothing but him, the wind, and the sky. 

Which meant he wasn’t alone at all, really. Here, Graham Mulciber could close his eyes, reach out his senses, and know the world better than most. As his father had taught him, in the valleys and woods of home, in all the lessons Randal had heard but not listened to. His peers and their families talked about ‘old ways,’ as if cruel magics were all they needed. But they had forgotten more than would ever be remembered. He did not let his voice creep above a whisper, to let the wind take the words as it should be. Prayers were half-remembered, half-constructed, pleas to the Allfather for wisdom, to ancestors for guidance; ideas he knew would have Saul look at him askance and even Randal would not quite embrace. It was easier to keep it quiet. 

And then his brother’s voice wafted from the surly bonds of Earth to call him back - as always, to break contemplation and spiritual reflection with harsh mundanity. So he fell silent, released the snitch he’d feigned to still be hunting to excuse his distance, and dropped like a stone for the ground. He snatched back the snitch on the way, and only at the last moment pulled himself from his dead drop to drag the broom-handle up, swerve away from crushing earth, and draw level with his brother on pitch; return to world and all its plights. 

His brother was not alone. In his distraction, Graham hadn’t noticed most of the team disappearing; the only players left were the two of them and Alecto Carrow. And someone, somehow had lured Emmeline Vance down to the Quidditch pitch. Even at her most fervent in house zealotry, Emmeline had given Quidditch only a gesture of support, so Graham couldn’t imagine she’d chosen to watch a team practice for fun. Indeed, she stood in as posture as defensive as he’d ever seen from her, arms folded across her chest, dark hair wafting in the cool evening breeze. 

‘I don’t answer to Randal,’ Emmeline was saying to Alecto, with a grey-eyed gaze of most supreme disinterest. ‘And neither do _you_ , Alecto; try to have a spine about this.’ 

Randal turned to Graham as he landed, and slung his broom over his shoulder. Even in muddy Quidditch gear, hair rumpled from the wind, goggles propped on his forehead, Graham’s brother looked taller and more collected than most, though Emmeline’s poise gave him a run for his money. ‘We’re done with practice, Graham,’ he said. ‘Hit the showers.’ 

Graham swung off his broom and looked between the trio. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked instead, not leaving. 

‘What’s _going on_ ,’ sneered Alecto, ‘is Emmeline protected Evans. You know she’s not Severus’ little play-thing any more!’ 

Emmeline gave a humourless laugh. ‘I cannot believe you’ve dragged me out here for a dressing down from Randal, like he’s our bloody father.’ 

‘You don’t get to do these things and -’ 

‘Enough,’ Randal grunted, and both girls fell silent. ‘Emmeline is right. She doesn’t answer to me. I’m not going to give lectures.’ Alecto looked shocked, but then he carried on. ‘There’d be no point. I’m done playing games. We all know the truth of the matter, and we all have to make our own choices.’ 

Emmeline tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘You’re so gracious, Randal.’ 

Then he’d rounded on her, closing the distance between them in a flash and stood tall, looming, broad, enough to make even her - Emmeline, whom Graham had never seen bat an eyelid at anything - take a step back. ‘Don’t _bullshit_ me, Vance. I’ve drawn a line in the sand, and we must all, _all_ decide where to stand. If you’re not with me, I will feel _no_ regret for what I must do.’ 

Graham watched as she looked up to meet Randal’s gaze, and watched a flicker at her jaw as she restored all control. ‘Is that a threat? We don’t need to talk in half-baked rhetoric here -’ 

‘Of _course_ it’s a threat,’ Randal snarled. ‘If you’re not with me, with your family and _all_ our families, you are nothing. And I will treat you like nothing. Prance and play with words all you like, but we’re moving far, far past schoolyard games.’ 

There was a heartbeat’s silence, then Emmeline gave a soft snort. ‘I think this little show makes it clear we are _not_ past schoolyard games. Consider me melodramatically warned, Randal.’ 

‘ _Good._ Because it won’t happen again. Decide where to stand, Vance. We’re done here.’ 

Emmeline faltered a moment, balking at being dismissed. But with no reason to stay, she just gave another huff, turned on her heel, and stalked back up towards the castle. 

Randal watched her go, then turned on the smirking Alecto. ‘You should have dealt with that yourself.’ 

Alecto blinked. ‘I thought you’d want to know someone who used to be so close to us -’ 

‘I’ve seen what Emmeline’s done and _not_ done the past year. I know. Or you could have talked to me. Were you incapable of handling her?’ 

‘Of course I can handle Vance -’ 

‘Then prove it. Rosalind said she made you look a fool in front of Evans.’ 

Graham had to fight to keep his expression studied there. Even he wasn’t sure if Randal was using Rosalind Yaxley’s undoubtedly biased account just to manipulate Alecto, or if she’d wound him enough around her finger that he’d believed her. Alecto looked angry enough that she probably didn’t know, either, though Graham suspected the battle for supremacy between the two girls would soon enter a new round. 

‘And what about you, Randal?’ she retorted. ‘Have you _done_ anything all year except waltz around in Rabastan’s wake, thumping your chest? Or does Sluggy have you running scared?’ 

Randal just stared at her, pale eyes even paler in the darkness. ‘Believe me, Carrow,’ he said, voice a low rumble. ‘I am not the one in this school running scared.’ It was no answer at all, thought Graham, but it was enough to make Alecto - always Emmeline Vance’s pale shadow - also huff and stalked off back to the castle, leaving the brothers Mulciber stood alone on the Quidditch pitch. Randal didn’t move until Alecto was out of sight. ‘I told you to hit the showers.’ 

Graham shrugged. ‘I wanted to know what brought Emmeline down here.’ 

‘Forget about her. She’s more trouble than you need.’ 

‘She and I are history. I’m only curious, Randal. But something in her has changed.’ 

‘Unless you think you can make her see sense, she’s not worth your time.’ His brother looked over, and his face softened. ‘I know she hurt you, Graham. There’s no shame in that; you had every reason to care about her. The fault’s hers, not yours.’ 

‘I don’t feel guilty,’ Graham lied. ‘As I said, I was curious. I used to understand her. Now I don’t.’ 

‘No,’ said Randal softly. ‘I wager nobody does.’ He walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You flew well tonight. But I saw you waste time at the end. Are you alright?’ 

It was so unusual for him to ask that Graham hesitated. ‘I took some time to myself,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t often get the chance.’ 

‘We don’t. Father would be pleased you still do. We should go to the runestone at Yule, the two of us.’ 

Graham knew Randal meant it. He also knew it wouldn’t happen. He nodded. ‘Alecto is just insulted. You know nobody questions you.’ 

Randal grunted. ‘I don’t blame you. I know you have to cooperate with that Mudblood in Kettleburn’s class.’ 

It had not occurred to Graham that his partnership with Amy Hargreaves might reflect poorly on Randal Mulciber. ‘I have no choice. But it’s easy enough. She’s stupid and I’ll make her do the simple labour.’ Though he owed Hargreaves nothing, the words tasted as bitter as any he gave his brother to keep him mollified. ‘It will be easier when the beasts arrive.’ 

‘I’m glad you do that.’ Randal nodded, and when he smiled at him like that, he looked so much like their father that Graham could almost forget every rumour and brag he’d ever heard about Mary Macdonald. ‘There’s a future when the fighting’s over. It’s good you remember that. Work for it.’ 

They walked back to the common room together, brooms slung over their shoulder, talking class and Quidditch and feeling for all the world like normal brothers, not men caught on the cusp of zealotry and war. Potter would captain a tough Gryffindor team, Randal was sure; tougher than Podmore, so unimaginative and stuck in his ways. But Potter was arrogant, and the moment he over-stretched himself, they’d strike. Graham knew he could beat Cresswell, but didn’t begrudge Randal for not counting on a victory between the Seekers; that put too much in the hands of one man and fate. 

But they were back at the common room soon, too soon, and Randal’s shoulders squared and his face grew stern and he was the leader again, not Graham’s brother. Dinner had come and gone before practice, so now Slytherin House settled in the dungeons for homework and conversation. Graham left Randal to talk with Amycus and the other Seventh Years, showered, and on his way up out of the dormitories and into the common room almost ran into Emmeline coming the other way on the stairs. 

She stopped short first, straightening with a tense tilt to her jaw. ‘Graham.’ 

He glanced about, raising an eyebrow. ‘And again you’re snapping at me on sight.’ 

‘Oh, so you _do_ talk to me. But only in private?’ 

‘This is about before -’ 

‘Of _course_ it’s about before, Graham. Your brother’s right. He’s drawn a line in the sand, and we’re all choosing where we stand.’ 

He frowned. ‘I don’t remember choosing to stand against you.’ 

She put her hands on her hips, tall and aristocratic and so entirely done with his defensiveness. ‘When your brother threatened me and you said not one word, lifted not a finger, that was a choice.’ 

‘I didn’t _do_ anything,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re the one who got in Alecto’s way. For who, for Lily Evans? What do you owe her?’ 

‘Nothing,’ said Emmeline Vance. ‘But I owe Alecto nothing, either. And I certainly don’t owe _you_ an explanation.’ 

‘Then perhaps I don’t owe you my loyalty in the face of my own brother, my own House.’ 

She clicked her tongue. ‘Probably don’t,’ she agreed, and went to pass him. 

He caught her arm, scowling, and turned her back to face him. ‘Emmeline, talk to me. You’ve nobody else. What’s going on?’ 

She met his gaze, bright-eyed. ‘You know what’s going on, Graham. If you choose to ignore it, choose to pretend, I could talk to you for a thousand years and still couldn’t save you.’ 

‘I really _don_ _’t_ know. We _could_ talk, once.’ 

‘Your brother talks,’ said Emmeline. ‘But your brother, at least, is honest. You’re not. Not to me, not to him, not to yourself. You can blame my studies all you like, blame _me_ all you like, but that - your dishonesty - is why I ended it with you. And it’s why, Graham, we are not friends.’ 

Then she pulled her arm free and stalked back down to her dormitory, leaving Graham stood alone in the dark stairwell, words echoing with truths he’d rather not listen to. 


	10. Forgotten Boy

_The one who searches and destroys,_  
 _Honey gotta help me please,_  
 _Somebody gotta save my soul._  
\- _‘Search and Destroy,’ The Stooges (1973)_

 

It was pissing with rain, so they hid in the back of the library. Madam Pince kept eyeballing Jack like he was here to eat the books, and he worked hard to not flip her off. Sure, he’d spent more time here this past week than in the last five years. But he was in the company of at least one bona fide nerd, and still he got the same glances they gave him in Diagon Alley, when he walked into shops with his leather jacket and they thought not just ‘Muggle-born’ but ‘thug.’ Some assumptions were universal. 

Only right now it was just Jack and Dory, him writing notes for Potions, her scribbling runes across parchment. Lily had been here, but now she was at the far end of the stacks, holding the books she’d gone to fetch and trying to twirl too-short red-locks around a finger as she spoke to Wick. He’d stopped by at a moment Jack thought too convenient for coincidence, but already they were gushing over something-or-other from Muggle Studies. 

‘How can she _not_ know he’s flirting with her?’ Jack grumbled. 

Dory brushed blue hair out of her eyes and smirked. ‘She’s not used to boys, our Red. She’s not noticed Potter flirting with her for years.’ 

‘Yeah, but Potter’s an arse. She _likes_ Wick. But she thinks he’s just being nice.’ 

She looked up at him, gaze flat. ‘Yeah. Amazing how people can be so oblivious.’ 

Jack blinked. ‘What?’ 

‘You know what.’ 

He looked to his left as Lily gave a small laugh, tossing her head back. ‘I’m not jealous! Lily’s just a friend.’ 

‘Well, you could have been into _Wick_ , but literally none of that was my point.’ 

Jack stabbed his parchment with his quill, ripping it and gaining nothing. ‘Do you, you know, _do_ anything? Or are you just here to mock _us_ for shit and be superior?’ 

‘I _do_ like the mocking.’ Dory twirled her quill. ‘Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But this is what you get for being friends with girls, Chuckles. We talk to you about your feelings. We make you do your schoolwork.’ 

‘ _You_ don’t make me do my schoolwork. Wanting to pass my NEWTs makes me work, and _fucking hell_ I’m writing shite.’ He screwed up the parchment in frustration, tossing it to one side. ‘I hate Potions theory.’ 

The tiny tantrum got Lily’s attention, even if that wasn’t his intention. He saw her bid a quick goodbye to Wick, then she hurried over. ‘Sorry, Jack. I got a little, um, diverted.’ 

Jack looked the way Wick went. He was Muggle-born but looked every inch a _wizard_ in his expensive robes, and Jack had to admit he was a bit jealous. It just had nothing to do with girls _or_ boys. ‘Don’t ditch your boy-toy on my account.’ 

‘My boy-’ 

‘Sorry, is he _courting_? That what rich people call it?’ He had to smile, Jack remembered. People thought he was being mean if he didn’t smile. 

Lily went more red as she sat down next to Dory. ‘We were _actually_ talking about Wilfred Owen.’ 

‘Yeah? What House is he in?’ This time he didn’t smile. Sometimes it was funnier to play more stupid than he was. Even if he wasn’t _entirely_ sure who Wilfred Owen was. 

‘He was a _poet_ , World War One, Professor Dearborn’s said we’ll cover some war poetry…’ 

‘Oh, you were talking class.’ Jack winked at Dory. ‘Wick sure has a way with girls.’ 

‘I refuse,’ said Lily, ‘to be flirting with a boy when I don’t even know his first name.’ 

‘Nobody remembers his first name,’ said Dory. ‘Or if they know, they don’t tell. It’s probably something terrible.’ 

‘It’s got to be fucking appalling if he won’t say it around _wizards_ ,’ Jack pointed out. ‘You know pure-bloods, they’re all called things like Alginon and - and - Esmerelda, and - you know, stupid things. They’re all stupid names, like we need reminding they’re a bunch of leeches who don’t understand _real_ society -’ 

Lily’s gaze snapped over his shoulder. ‘ _Hey_ , Marlene.’ 

The tirade stuck in Jack’s throat, and his head whipped around to see Marlene McKinnon, blonde hair a tight, no-nonsense bun, but somehow looking even smaller than usual as she clutched books to herself. ‘Oh,’ he said. Surprise and embarrassment made his voice toneless. ‘McKinnon.’ 

‘I - I can go,’ stammered Marlene. ‘Lily just said we might work on that Potions essay together…’ 

Dory glanced at Lily. ‘What does that make me, the tea girl?’ 

‘I was thinking some sort of mascot.’ Lily’s retort came effortlessly, and she nudged out the chair next to Jack with her foot. ‘Of course, Marlene, sit down. It’ll be way easier with three of us.’ 

Jack tried to shoot Lily a betrayed look - she hadn’t mentioned Marlene to _him_ \- but it went unnoticed. Marlene did that thing lots of people did when they had to be near Jack, leaning away a little as she sat down, and indignation twisted his gut. He’d been rude, sure, but she couldn’t even look at him. 

‘I picked up some books on the seasonal influences on certain botanical reagents,’ Marlene blurted, too-fast. ‘And I already made some notes at lunchtime, so - do you think Professor Slughorn’s going to think we cribbed off each other if we all reference them?’ Jack had the sneaking suspicion that by ‘we all’ she meant him, like he wouldn’t have looked at seasonal changes without her. That it _wouldn_ _’t_ have occurred to him only made it worse. 

‘Sluggy’s not going to mind us putting our heads together,’ said Lily, and pushed one of the books she’d found on her diverted quest across the table. ‘There’s a chapter in here which discusses how silver purity in your blades will affect results. I thought it could be handy.’ 

Jack looked at the scrunched-up ball of parchment he’d thrown to the floor. ‘I got nothing.’ 

‘It’s _fine_ ,’ said Dory, oddly too quickly. ‘Red and McBrainy here will get you up to speed in no time, Chuckles.’ 

‘Great,’ said Jack. ‘Study becomes charity work.’ 

Marlene looked struck, but Lily rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, come on, Jack, that’s not what Dory meant. You wouldn’t have been let _in_ for a Potions NEWT if you couldn’t hack it.’ 

‘Yeah, I think Sluggy took one look at my OWL exam paper and lost ten years of his life.’ Dory looked unfazed by his sharpness, but Marlene kept her head down. A glance her way showed her already writing long-hand from her notes as if nothing was going on around her, but Jack didn’t need to be good with people to see her bite her lip, set her shoulder. 

He was just making this worse. He tossed his quill down. ‘You know what, it’s past sunset. I should try to get some Astronomy work done.’ 

Lily looked at the thunderous rain against the black windows, then back at him. ‘If you say so.’ Her voice couldn’t be flatter. 

He didn’t care much. He could see the flicker of fresh tension in Marlene as he stood, saw how it softened when he stepped away. She was the only other one who took Astronomy. She knew they didn’t _have_ homework yet, with all the storm warnings, but she didn’t say anything to stop him going. ‘You girls have fun.’ 

To most people the Hufflepuff common room was a comfy escape. To Jack, going down the steps past the kitchens was like walking towards a prison. Light from the sconces was golden and warm, and the round door opened at the password to show the overstuffed armchairs, the fuzzy throws over the backs of sofa. The roaring fire and the warm colours and all of his housemates clumped together, thick as thieves. And about as honest. Hufflepuff House was a cosy, welcoming idyll, and anyone saying otherwise usually got theirs. 

He had to be either a fraud or an outcast, and Jack knew which of those he was better at. He stomped past the laughing friends, the Second Years with their game of Exploding Snap, the Fourth Year girls who’d filched biscuits from the kitchens, and went for one of the dim corners. Most Hufflepuffs didn’t use them. They liked to stand in the light. 

He was so irritated, throwing down his bag and knowing he’d have to crack on with his Potions work by himself, that he didn’t realise he’d strayed too close to danger. 

‘…only so McGonagall can prove how enlightened she is.’ 

‘It’s just House favouritism.’ 

‘If it were that, then she’d bump up Potter and the others, wouldn’t she?’ 

Jack knew the scathing laugh well. He’d laughed along with it, before, but that had happened less and less over the last year. Leonard Travers’ sharp comments had once been at everyone’s expense, and through bitterness the boys had bonded since their Sorting Feast. He’d probably started showing his biases since third year, but first it had taken Jack a while to notice how he singled Muggle-borns out, and then he’d had to find the stomach to object. Travers was a lot better at making other friends. 

There’d been no official falling out. He’d pretended he was studying more for OWLs and Travers hadn’t stopped them from drifting. Jack suspected he’d been his shield for a time, a chance for him to pretend to the world and himself that he wasn’t like the Slytherin bastards. Then one day last summer, all the Hufflepuff boys descending from the dormrooms for breakfast, he’d made some sort of crack Jack couldn’t even remember. 

He’d done nothing. But he’d made sure he sat by himself at the dinner table, and then that was the way of things. 

Now Travers was sat with Stroulger and Clagg, like usual, but Janvier and Paul Bane were there, too. It was Bane who’d mentioned Gryffindor favouritism, which won him only a little credit in Jack’s eyes. 

‘She’s not _that_ good,’ Travers was continuing, and if the subject was Transfiguration and bigotry, Jack had a pretty good idea who he meant. ‘And it’s as if McGonagall’s forgotten there’s more to magical knowledge and mastery than writing essays or waving a wand.’ 

Focusing on his Potions work wasn’t going to happen. Jack couldn’t stop himself from giving a pointed cough. He knew it was a mistake right away, felt Leonard Travers’ eyes land on him from the sofa closer to the fire. 

‘It’s not as if,’ Travers continued, his voice taking on that pointed, languid tone he always used on the run-up to an attack, ‘she’d understand the implications developing transfigurative techniques had on _society_ , on _development_. Like - an example. Hey! Jack!’ 

He still called him by his first name, still called across the common room like there was going to be another jape, and Jack’s jaw tightened as he scowled at blank parchment. He didn’t look up. He knew that wouldn’t save him. 

‘You’re a Muggle-born!’ Travers continued, as if oblivious to Jack’s avoidance. He wasn’t very tall, but was stocky with it, with a squareish sort of face that made him look squinty, not muscular. ‘Do you know what Hogwarts used for guards before wizards perfected transfiguration methods on the suits of armour?’ 

There was no ink for his quill, but Jack pretended to write anyway. ‘No,’ he said at last, because if he gave an answer it would get it over and done with quicker. 

‘Come on, Jack. Guess.’ 

His throat tightened as he looked over. Travers wore his most smug smirk, Clagg next to him with that puppy-dog like adoration. For years Clagg had followed Jack and Travers, the edgy and cool kids of Hufflepuff. Now he was the favoured sidekick. Janvier looked supremely disinterested and Bane decidedly awkward. 

‘More staff?’ Jack guessed. 

Travers’ laugh was superior, indulgent. ‘ _Statues_ , Jack. The transfiguration techniques were perfected by the tenth century, but of _course_ full suits of armour hadn’t existed then! Muggles were much further behind in their metalworking techniques.’ He waved a hand and looked at Stroulger, who was first to laugh. ‘You see, they can learn _facts_ , they can sit in class with us, but Mudbloods don’t get the _context_ -’ 

Jack shoved himself to his feet, and was gratified by how this did make Travers stop mid-sneer. He remembered Jack’s right hook, at least, and even if everyone knew Jack would have to be dumb as shit to start something in the middle of the Hufflepuff common room, it was enough to shut him up for a heartbeat. 

‘It’s hilarious,’ Jack snapped, ‘how much Lily’s going to kick your arse in every single subject.’ 

Travers’ smile didn’t flicker. ‘And how will _you_ do, Jack?’ He waved a hand at his ankles. ‘You do need new robes, by the way, old boy. Those old ones are _far_ too short.’ 

Now his fists clenched, now the familiar sizzle settled in his gut, and he didn’t care that he’d left bare parchment behind as proof of his failure when he snatched his bag and stormed to the dormitory. 

And they all laughed behind him, from Clagg’s braying approval to Bane’s awkward, forced snicker.

§ 

He ate breakfast alone at the big Hufflepuff table, as he had every day since getting back. He’d told himself all week that sometime he’d go sit with Lily and Dory at Gryffindor, but they weren’t down yet. Still, it wasn’t respect for the unwritten traditions that kept him in check. Jack doubted they’d welcome him after he stropped off last night.

But Herbology was the first class, so he’d be in with all of them. Apprehension made breakfast slither down his throat, greasy and uncomfortable, and sit heavy in his stomach. 

Travers had deigned to ignore him that morning, but at least Janvier and Bane weren’t with him, were sat laughing with the Quidditch team like they usually did. Bane had given him a bit of an apologetic look when he’d come to bed, but he’d said nothing and Jack preferred it that way. It would have just been words, anyway. People like Travers said what they liked and it was easier for people like Bane, people in the middle, to laugh or ignore it. Leaving him here, alone. 

‘Morning, Chuckles.’ 

Jack stared as Lily and Dory appeared as if from nowhere and sat opposite him. ‘What’re _you_ doing here?’ 

Of course it came out rough, but Lily just smirked as she reached for the platter of bacon. ‘Having breakfast. What does it look like?’ She rolled her eyes and looked at Dory. ‘Honestly, men are so unobservant.’ 

‘But - but this is the Hufflepuff table.’ 

Dory slapped her palm on her forehead. ‘Well, _bugger me_ , so it is! Oh well, too late now.’ She reached for the eggs. 

‘Stop.’ Jack tugged the pan away and now they flinched, false innocence turned to apprehension. Then he reached down the table, leaning across a pair of Third Years without giving a damn, and grabbed a different platter. ‘These are fresh.’ 

‘Isn’t he the gentleman host?’ Dory grinned. ‘Puts Gryffindor to shame. So much for _chivalry_.’ 

The corner of Lily’s lips curled as she buttered toast. ‘I thought we could go back to the library at lunch, anyway. Go over Potions. _Without_ Marlene.’ 

Jack felt shame flood to his cheeks. ‘We don’t - I don’t got a problem with Marlene.’ 

Lily raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s no trouble.’ 

‘No. She’s alone, too. I’ll keep my stupid trap shut next time.’ He hesitated. ‘Why didn’t you go sit at Ravenclaw with her?’ 

‘I felt especially hard-working this morning,’ said Dory. ‘So this was more appropriate and -’ 

‘We spent all evening with her in the library,’ Lily interrupted. ‘We thought _you_ could do with the company.’ 

Jack looked down and stabbed another sausage. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered. 

‘Besides,’ added Lily, looking down the table with an arched, superior eyebrow. ‘Us being here is annoying a lot more people, and you know I can’t resist getting breakfast _and_ making a point.’ 

‘It’s true,’ said Dory with a mouthful of eggs. ‘Pissing people off for principles is better than a cup of coffee in the morning for Red.’ 

‘It’s how I like to start the day. Any time I can aggravate someone simply by _existing_ is fine by me.’ 

‘Evans! Meadowes!’ 

Lily’s smile grew thin as Abernathy’s voice wafted down the Great Hall. ‘See?’ she muttered, and didn’t look up. 

The short shape of Hufflepuff’s Head of House bowled down the table to their end. ‘Are you two _lost_?’ 

Dory looked at Lily, then up at Abernathy, all innocent. ‘No sir, but I really felt like a badger this morning.’ 

‘Technically,’ Lily added, ‘there are no rules against anyone sitting anywhere they _like_ at breakfast, sir. I checked the school regulations. Is this one of those unwritten traditions?’ She wrinkled her nose, and her voice went false, higher pitched. ‘Nobody tells us Muggle-borns about those. It can be very _hard_ , being expected to know all of these things.’ 

_Did she just turn,_ _‘poor little ignorant Muggle-born’ into a strike_ against _Abernathy?_

‘Yeah, and, um, I’m just a girl,’ Dory added, kind of ruining the effect. ‘And I’m also a dumb Gryffindor and a bit of an easily-led follower. So it’s all Red’s fault -’ 

‘ _Go_ ,’ snapped Abernathy, obviously not interested in debating. ‘You should sit with your own House at breakfast.’ 

Lily and Dory exchanged looks. ‘We _are_ sat with our own -’ 

‘Now!’ 

Jack noticed how, all this time, Lily had been stuffing bacon between toast, making several impromptu sandwiches. These she wrapped in a napkin before replying, voice still that higher, mock-innocent pitch. ‘I’m sorry, Professor. I’ll check the rules again. I’m sure if it’s so important, a headmaster would have made note of it _somewhere_.’ 

All three of them stood, and it was only now Jack realised they’d caught the attention of half the school. He was too confused to smile, but Dory was beaming, rather ruining the effect of Lily’s haughty mockery. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he added. ‘But thank you, sir, for reminding us of all these unwritten rules.’ 

Abernathy couldn’t yell at them for cooperating and assuring him they’d heed his warnings, so he just stood, dumbfounded, as the trio waltzed towards the doors. 

They were around the corner before Dory and Lily cracked up, Lily clutching her sandwiches like she was afraid of dropping them, Dory bent double with her hands on her knees. 

‘“ _I really felt like a badger this morning_ _”?’_ Lily howled. ‘What the _hell_ , Dory?’ 

‘Oh, come off it, Red! “ _A headmaster would have made a note of it somewhere_ _”?’_ Dory smacked her on the arm. ‘I was trying to keep a straight face!’ 

‘You were doing a shit job of it!’ 

‘You’re both,’ said Jack, arms folded across his chest, failing to fight his own smile, ‘ _mental_.’ 

Lily was still snickering as she handed out the bacon sandwiches. ‘We’d better walk around a bit. Still got half an hour until Herbology, it’s pissing down out there again, and Abernathy will yell again if he finds us out here.’ 

‘He is _such_ a little troll. I’d call him a goblin, but that gives goblins a bad name,’ Dory grumbled. 

They wandered, sticking to the southern corridors so they were close to the doors down to Herbology, and enjoyed a comfortable silence of munching on the stolen breakfast. It was barely done before Lily spoke again, gesturing with wild indignation. 

‘It’s _stupid_. There really _is_ no rule against us sitting anywhere at meal-times. It’s just another stupid tradition. I’m all for House pride and solidarity but segregating us like this helps nobody.’ 

Dory brushed crumbs off the front of her robes. ‘This really the hill you want to die on, Red?’ 

‘I mean it! Hogwarts has so many entrenched expectations and traditions, and kids from magical families grow up being told the stories, learning most of them. A Muggle-born comes in and they’re just expected to follow along. So you’re so busy trying to not put a foot out of line, to _conform_ , you don’t stop to wonder if you _should_ -’ 

Jack was _almost_ glad they heard something which cut off Lily’s tirade. He found himself agreeing with her half the time; the other half he spent thinking she was over-thinking. And once she started, it was hard to make her stop. 

A muffled scream from down the corridor was plenty distraction, though. 

He was running before he knew it, and only halfway there did he realise he hadn’t pulled his wand like Lily and Dory had. They thought of them as weapons and shields, an instinctive part of themselves, their first response. Jack’s first response was his clenched fists. 

But he knew how powerless those would be when they skidded around the corner to find Mary Macdonald pinned against a wall by Randal Mulciber, with Amycus Carrow leaning against the opposite wall with an indolent leer. It looked - _looked_ \- like she’d only just been grabbed, probably on her way down to Herbology. Jack idly wondered if she’d have walked alone if Lily and Dory had sat at their table this morning, like they always did. 

The scene was enough to stop him in his tracks, and he heard a hushed, ‘fucking hell,’ from Dory. So it was Lily who barrelled past them, wand snapping out. ‘ _Get away from her_!’ 

Mulciber wasn’t ready - but Carrow had his wand in hand, probably ready for Mary to try something, and it was with painful ease that he Shielded both Slytherins from Lily’s initial curse. And yet she kept coming. 

_Don_ _’t get so close, don’t_ \- 

So Mulciber shoved Mary back as he straightened, and Lily bowled right into his backhand. ‘The hell do _you_ three think you’re doing? Attacking a prefect?’ he barked. 

Lily spun, clutching her cheek. Dory started forward, but Jack grabbed her by the shoulder, jaw tight. 

Dory faltered. ‘What’re you -’ 

‘You get them both out of there,’ Jack muttered, voice low. ‘You got me?’ And without waiting for a reply, he stomped forward, gaze landing flatly on Randal Mulciber, ‘I’d call it attacking a right pair of dickheads.’ 

He didn’t bother drawing his wand. They were Seventh Years and who knew what lessons they picked up from their families, their _friends_. That even Lily’s hex had been knocked aside so easily made it plain to Jack that all their classroom teaching meant very little in the face of a spot of _practical_ experience, and a knot in his gut settled at the thought of what experience these two had which beat corridor scraps. 

To his relief, Mary had started to scuttle, crab-like, down the corridor towards Dory. A quick glance her way showed she was pale, shaking, but unharmed; they’d arrived just in time. He had to step around Lily on the floor; she was best there for the moment, out of the way as she reeled from the blow. He wasn’t surprised. Randal Mulciber was a big guy and Lily Evans had probably never been hit before. 

Mulciber turned to face him, and rolled his eyes. ‘It was just a bit of _fun_. You Mudbloods get so _serious_. The girl can’t take a compliment.’ 

‘Yeah. You’re a streak of piss, Mulciber.’ Jack nodded sombrely. ‘I mean it as a compliment.’ Carrow gave a low snarl at that, snapped his wand up, and he made himself look unconcerned as he glanced over. ‘Oh, you bitter about that shiner I gave you, Carrow? Were _you_ too much a streak of piss to try me _without_ a wand?’ 

‘Didn’t want to get my hands dirty,’ Amycus Carrow grunted. 

But Mulciber smiled, all straight teeth and sophisticated brutality. ‘Perhaps we should give him an object lesson in - _hey_!’ 

Which was when Jack guessed Dory had grabbed Mary and hauled Lily to her feet. So he didn’t look around as he bellowed, ‘ _Run_!’ and punched Randal Mulciber in the face.

§ 

‘…he came for _us_ , Professor; honestly, we were just minding our own business. He was with the three girls and started on us.’

‘Yeah, I think he wanted to impress ‘em.’ 

‘Oh, _please_! Yes, a Muggle-born student _chose_ to start a fist-fight with _two_ Slytherins? _That_ happens every day. We were helping Mary, and you kicked the crap out of him!’ 

‘ _Language_ , Evans!’ 

‘ _Really_ , sir? They _attack_ Mary and beat up Jack and _you_ _’re_ criticising me for my _language_? Where the _hell_ is Professor McGonagall, anyway?’ 

The furious words ploughed into the darkness, and dredged Jack up out of unconsciousness and into the bright white, shining surroundings of the Infirmary. With the four figures stood at the foot of his bed. 

He tried to not flinch at the sight of Carrow and Mulciber, because flinching hurt. He was lucky, he supposed as he replayed the last few seconds of what he remembered, that they’d finished him off with a spell. It was better to be hexed into unconsciousness than beaten. But it probably kept their hands cleaner of the pain they’d inflicted. 

Lily stood before them and Professor Abernathy, hands in the air, face as red as her hair with fury. There was a welt on her cheek already, but everyone seemed to have ignored that as Abernathy cut off her anger with calm disinterest. 

‘Professor McGonagall is Head of Gryffindor and this incident did not _involve_ any Gryffindors -’ 

‘It involved _three_ bloody Gryffindors!’ Lily waved a hand to the next bed over, where Mary sat. Dory perched next to her, an arm over her shoulder, expression unusually serious for once. ‘It _started_ with a Gryffindor, a Gryffindor Mulciber isn’t even supposed to come _near_!’ 

‘I didn’t!’ exclaimed Mulciber, all indignant innocence. ‘I told you, sir, they wandered up to us! I know she didn’t like my joke last year -’ 

‘Your _joke_?’ Lily looked like she might actually take off in her fury. 

‘That is enough!’ Madam Pomfrey stomped up to the bed, chin jutting. Jack wondered how long she’d tried to calm this down before pulling Infirmarian rank. ‘Mister Corrigan requires rest, and unless you’re about to issue a disciplinary edict, Professor Abernathy, might I suggest you take this debate somewhere _other_ than the foot of his bed? Oh, he’s awake.’ She swept next to him, white and fussy and blocking Jack’s view of the rest of the room and the fight, which he was okay with. Behind her, he heard Abernathy shuffle his feet. 

‘Boys will scrap,’ said Abernathy with a stutter. ‘Corrigan has a record for starting fights. I understand you might want to protect your friend, Miss Evans, but we’ll have no more of this. I think it’s clear the situation’s resolved itself.’ 

‘Resolved -’ 

‘Miss Evans,’ said Pomfrey tartly, drawing her wand and administering healing charms to Jack’s lip - which he felt now, with the soothing glow, was split, ‘if you cannot stay calm I will ask you to leave.’ 

Silence fell then, broken only by stomping footsteps which first sounded like Abernathy leaving along with Carrow and Mulciber, and then like Lily pacing back and forth. Jack closed his eyes and let the soothing flow of healing charms wash over him, even if they came with the occasional pinch of pain as they found the places he’d been hurt. In the background he could hear Dory murmuring to Mary, nonsense reassurance. 

‘You cracked a rib,’ said Madam Pomfrey. Jack noted the language. Even if she didn’t sound judging, it still wasn’t admitting an attack. ‘And you have several bruises and cuts, but you should be fine by this evening.’ She drew back. ‘Drink that potion by your bedside and have a nap and I’ll likely discharge you before dinner.’ 

Jack nodded, and Madam Pomfrey turned to Lily. ‘Would you like me to look at that cheek, Miss Evans -’ 

‘I’m _fine_ ,’ snapped Lily in murderous rebellion. Madam Pomfrey just tossed her hands in the air and left, which meant Lily’s furious gaze turned on Jack next. ‘What were you _thinking_?’ 

‘You’re welcome.’ He sat up only slowly, feeling his body ache with the move. He’d had worse. ‘What were _you_ thinkin’, charging Mulciber an’ Carrow like that? Nice shiner.’ 

‘There were three of us and two of them -’ 

‘An’ Mary needed getting out of trouble,’ Jack slurred. ‘And them two are _better_ in a scrap than us. Face it, Lily. We were outmatched, and what they did to me ain’t a patch on what they might’ve done to Mary.’ 

Mary looked up from wringing her hands in her lap. The usually bright eyes and cheery smile were gone, and Jack realised she wasn’t as tall as her bubbly presence made her seem. ‘He just - I was walking down and turned the corner and he _grabbed_ me, I don’t know what he -’ 

‘Best to not know,’ said Dory gently, again reaching for her hand. 

Jack nodded. ‘Exactly. You okay?’ 

Mary’s smile came with a humourless laugh. ‘You get the shit kicked out of you so I can run away and _you_ ask if _I_ _’m_ okay?’ She shook her head, light brown hair falling like a veil across her face. ‘I’m okay. He just rattled me, it wasn’t like - like last time.’ 

‘I cannot _believe_ ,’ snapped Lily, her own hair rather wild, ‘that Professor Abernathy isn’t going to do a _thing_ -’ 

‘I can,’ said Jack. ‘He fuckin’ hates me and he won’t dare piss off the Carrow family. Abernathy ain’t interested in _order_ , he’s interested in _quiet_.’ He glanced at the potion on the bedside next to him. ‘Speakin’ of, I should drink this and sleep.’ 

Dory got to her feet and extended a hand to Mary. ‘We’ll walk you back to the common room,’ she offered. 

Lily folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’ll catch up,’ she said, not taking her eyes off Jack. Both stayed silent while the other two left, at which point she actually stomped her foot. ‘You shouldn’t have done that alone -’ 

‘Bloody hell, woman, I said _sleep_ ,’ he said, not without wryness as he reached for the potion. ‘Not “let’s argue this again.”’ 

She wilted at that, and once more he felt guilt along with his foot down his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I was - I didn’t want to run.’ 

‘You’d just taken a right smack, and the most important thing were getting Mary _out_ of there. You can’t go toe-to-toe with big guys like them.’ 

She chewed her thumbnail. ‘Yet,’ she muttered, then added, like it might make them both feel better, ‘I got you out of there as soon as they left.’ 

‘It were the right thing to do.’ He clutched the potion, looking down at its murky burgundy hues. Then, at last, took a deep breath and mumbled, ‘M’sorry.’ 

‘What the hell are _you_ sorry for? _Other_ than being an idiot in a way which puts a Gryffindor to -’ 

‘For last night,’ he said, voice tight. He was terrible at this. ‘I didn’t mean to strop off like that. Weren’t fair.’ 

‘ _Oh_.’ She sounded like she’d forgotten that had happened. ‘No, I’m sorry, I forgot you have a problem with Marlene and -’ 

‘Can you shut up and let me finish? That ain’t it.’ He glared at the potion. ‘Would have been good to get your help. Might have done better on the essay with it. I’m just - you know how they look down on _us_ for not knowing things? Things they all know?’ He could speak like this with Lily, he knew, because Lily knew who _us_ and _they_ were. ‘Makes me fucking hate admitting when I’m not good at things. When I don’t know things. They lord it over us.’ Jack shifted his weight, felt where Carrow had punched his gut scream in protest. ‘I know it ain’t the same when it’s with McKinnon, but it _feels_ it sometimes.’ He looked up, found her green eyes softened, saddened. ‘I know you get it. ‘Cos that’s why you work so fuckin’ hard, innit?’ 

Lily bit her lip and nodded, silent for a long moment. ‘You don’t need to prove yourself _worthy_ to anyone, Jack. Least of all me, after today. And anyone else can _fuck_ off.’ She padded over and reached for his hand, squeezing it in a quick, affectionate gesture that startled him. ‘You get some rest. I’ll sort out that essay for you.’ 

He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Is that how it works? Take a beating, a girl does your schoolwork for you?’ 

Her smile was soft. ‘Just this once. Next time, we study _together_.’ She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead, which he was also too confused to really stop her from doing. But when she straightened there was a spark back in her eyes, a spark that he knew he wouldn’t be able to dim. ‘Oh. And next time, we _fight_ together.’ 

‘Sure,’ said Jack Corrigan, smiling even though it hurt his healing lip. ‘Just as soon as you learn to _duck_.’ 


	11. Say You Want a Revolution

_A million workers working for nothing_  
 _You better give 'em what they really own._  
 _-_ _‘Power to the People,’ John Lennon (1970)_  
  
  
‘Someone,’ Lily snarled as she stomped down the corridor, ‘is going to get shot into the fucking sun.’

Dory stopped at the stairway. ‘Great. Just try to not _kill_ anyone without me?’ 

Lily faltered, looking up the tower then back. ‘Oh. I forgot. You’ve got Arithmancy?’ 

‘Yeah. You’ll tell Professor Dearborn why Mary’s not there?’ 

‘I’ll tell him. If he _cares_ is another question. After all, _officially_ nothing’s even _happened_ to her.’ 

‘Sure. Just like “officially” you, I dunno, fell down the stairs?’ Dory looked subdued as she gestured to Lily’s cheek. 

Lily still refused to have the welt seen to, even if it throbbed where Mulciber had hit her. She’d taken hexes and curses in spats with Slytherins over the years, but that had all been magic and subtle enough. Nobody had properly struck her before. But getting the injury healed by magic would have felt like part of the cover-up, part of Abernathy’s eagerness to pretend nothing had happened. So long as it blazed red-hot on her cheek, people had to look at it. So long as it throbbed and gave her a headache, she remembered. It was palpable, physical, a thudding heartbeat. 

_It happened. They did this. To hell with anyone else_ _’s story._  
  
‘The school can say what it likes. I don’t care what Abernathy would prefer - if he _believed_ the fight was Jack’s fault, Jack would have been given detention, docked points; _something_. I’m not going along with this.’ 

‘I noticed,’ Dory drawled, round features for once not pinched with a smirk or grin. It made her look thinner, paler, and she sighed. ‘Just - try to not start a war, okay, Red? Chuckles is in one piece, and it’s not worth a wireless broadcast to say, hey, Abernathy’s a prejudiced bastard. Pick your battles.’ 

‘Picking our battles,’ said Lily in a taut voice, ‘is precisely how we _lose_ wars.’ 

‘Maybe,’ said Dory, ‘but being a melodramatic little shit doesn’t help.’ 

Lily didn’t answer that, just left. Her thudding heartbeat set her pace up the steps, fiery and furious still. She’d wanted to push Dory away when she’d lifted her off the corridor floor, wanted to race back in and go to help Jack as Mulciber and Carrow descended. But her head had spun from the blow, and Mary had been latched onto Dory like a limpet, and Jack had been yelling. It had been too easy, far too easy, to let herself be dragged off. 

And yet again she’d left someone behind to suffer because it was _convenient_. And yet again the wizarding world didn’t care. 

She pushed the door to Muggle Studies open too hard, slamming it against the wall and making the classroom jump. She was the last in, delayed by the Infirmary, and the eyes of the mere handful of students swung around to stare at her - then at the welt on her cheek. She felt embarrassment rise, and realised all of a sudden that, despite her anger, she didn’t _want_ to tell the whole class what had happened. To admit Mulciber had beaten her so easily - the best witch of her year, thwarted by one blow; to admit that she’d run, to admit nobody even believed them. 

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, ducking her head and starting for her table. 

Professor Dearborn was out of his robes. It looked like this happened whenever he had half a chance, instead wearing a red tie and white Muggle shirt, the sleeves rolled up. She saw tattoos that wound along his arms as he folded them across his chest, black ink on dark skin in weaving, intricate patterns she half-recognised. But now was not the time to study them, because he was talking, voice deep and soft. ‘Miss Evans, are you alright?’ 

‘Fine, sir.’ She had to duck onto the nearest chair rather than make for her usual place, so she found herself next to Amy Hargreaves, her long legs sticking out from under the desk, notes of wild papers without the slightest semblance of organisation spread out. ‘Mary won’t be here, she’s not feeling very well.’ 

Lily could feel Dearborn’s eyes on her a moment more, but then the professor sighed and moved to the front of the class. ‘It might not excite you,’ he said, as if their latest arrival hadn’t strolled in looking like she’d been in a fight, ‘for me to say we’ll be starting this term with poetry.’ A ripple of groans ran around the room, and he gave a wry smile. ‘You’ve had bad experiences?’ 

‘We did Wordsworth in third year,’ sighed Bertram Aubrey. ‘It was bloody boring.’ 

‘And you did him because he’s _famous_ , right? I wonder if Professor Bentley knows a Muggle poet who’s not a dead old white guy. Don’t get me wrong. Some dead old white guys knew what they were talking about. But _you_ have to care, too. Poetry should put into words things you always knew but never knew how to _say_. And I don’t teach you Muggle poetry in Muggle Studies so you can go quote it, or even so you can feel like it _talks_ to you, though that’s good. We’re wizards. We do magic and live apart from the rest of society. But if a Muggle can turn a phrase that still hums in your veins and thumps in your heart?’ The corner of his lip curled. ‘Maybe we’re not that different.’ 

‘Wordsworth talked about clouds,’ Hargreaves said languidly. 

‘We’re not _doing_ Wordsworth.’ Dearborn’s voice was level, amiable. ‘Some of you in this room don’t know what the _Sunday Times_ supplement is. What Sunshine Breakfast cereal is. I bet _most_ , if not all of you, don’t know what Mahler’s 8th is. So sometimes, Muggle poetry’s going to make references you don’t get. And that’s okay. Those are gaps for us to bridge. But what if I quoted you a line of poetry; what if I said, “ _Without you every morning would feel like going back to work after a holiday_.”’ His dark eyes scanned the room. ‘That’s a feeling you all know. A feeling _we_ all know - no, I don’t wake up every Monday _thrilled_ to bits I get to teach class.’ 

Next to Lily, Hargreaves snorted. 

Dearborn nodded. ‘We’re going to start our poetry looking at the work of Adrian Henri, a poet who is not old, white, or _dead_ , and we’ll probably from there move on to other modern beat poetry, if you like it. Then, other poets. Poets who’ve got something to say we _care_ about. So we’ll see how this goes.’ He went for his desk and a stack of copied papers to distribute about the class. 

As his back was turned and attention diverted, Hargreaves muttered, ‘Nice shiner.’ 

Lily huffed. ‘Thanks.’ 

‘Wasn’t Corrigan, was it?’ 

She looked over, startled. ‘No! Mulciber.’ 

Hargreaves made a face. ‘Which?’ 

‘Randal, of course. Graham’s a tit but he’s not violent. He was going for Mary Macdonald again.’ 

‘So you headbutted his fist?’ 

‘It seemed the thing to do. Why did you think it was Jack?’ 

Hargreaves shrugged. She was never a very emotive girl, or at least, Lily suspected she put on shows and faces which suited her. And she didn’t trust any of Cornelia Fletcher’s friends as far as she could throw them. ‘He’s a bit like that, ain’t he.’ 

‘ _Actually_ ,’ said Lily hotly, urged to defend Jack Corrigan from his perfectly-deserved reputation for thuggery, ‘ _he_ took on Mulciber _and_ Amycus Carrow so we could get Mary out of there.’ 

Hargreaves’ face didn’t change. ‘And you _left_ him?’ 

It was just as well that was when Dearborn tossed sheafs of paper in front of them, and class went on. Lily didn’t know much poetry; the time she spent at home catching up on snippets of Muggle culture she’d missed got limited to music, television, novels. On a better day, in a better mood, she might have even liked the poetry; the rhythm of it, the disregard for a structure that would have felt suffocating alongside the modern terminology. And Dearborn was no fool; when the poem used a metaphor the average wizard wouldn’t get, he made sure they explained, which meant they went down tangents on crisps, the Cold War, comic books, and even public disorder in London. To nobody’s surprise, Hargreaves admitted some first-hand experience of the Notting Hill riots a couple months past. Lily kept quiet through most of it, not trusting herself to be civil to Dearborn or Hargreaves alike, and yet despite her best efforts the professor asked her to stay behind when the lesson ended and everyone else filtered out. 

‘Sir?’ she asked, all innocence as she padded up to his desk. 

Dearborn put down his book, and the kindly crinkle at the corners of his eyes was long gone. Dark eyes locked onto her, firm, uncompromising. ‘Who hit you?’ 

She hesitated. The fire she’d levelled on Dory had faded, and she knew Professor Abernathy wouldn’t hesitate to make her life harder if she gave the staff her side of the story. Not to mention she didn’t know Professor Dearborn well enough to be sure he’d even _believe_ her. 

But he saw her hesitation, perching on his desk and gesturing for her to sit. ‘Does this have anything to do with Miss Macdonald’s absence?’ His voice turned gentler. 

‘Professor Abernathy knows, sir.’ 

‘So you’ve been to the Infirmary.’ Dearborn’s expression didn’t change. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘And you still have a welt on your cheek the size of a double-decker. Did Madam Pomfrey have her hands full?’ 

Lily let out a slow breath. ‘I refused treatment, sir.’ 

Dearborn watched her a heartbeat more. ‘Has the person who did this to you been identified and punished?’ Again she hesitated, but in the silence saw a muscle in the corner of his jaw tighten. ‘I see. Except Professor Abernathy knows. So this isn’t you protecting someone or refusing to come forward.’ 

‘Sir, it was just -’ 

‘I haven’t been gone from this school so long I’ve forgotten what it’s _like_ , Miss Evans.’ He grimaced. ‘Or what Professor Abernathy is like. It’s amazing what a name can let these people get away with, isn’t it?’ 

Her gaze rose sharply to meet his, taut, apprehensive, and she found only understanding. ‘Randal Mulciber,’ she said quietly, starting to wring her hands in her lap. ‘Amycus Carrow.’ 

He nodded. ‘Is Miss Macdonald alright?’ 

‘Just - just shaken, sir. It’s Jack Corrigan who took the worst of it, he’s laid up in the Infirmary and Professor Abernathy blamed _him_ -’ The words started to spill over themselves as she let them out, frustration and fear bubbled up to a frothing mix inside her. 

A gentle hand came to her shoulder, and Caradoc Dearborn smiled. ‘There’s still a little time before dinner,’ he said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ 

They didn’t say more until he’d pottered about his office just off the classroom, until they were both sat with steaming mugs, and she just clutched hers for a time, felt its warmth begin to dissipate the tension racking her body since that morning. 

‘I spent the last few years back home in London,’ said Dearborn at last, voice a low, melodic rumble. ‘With Muggles, I mean - don’t you just bloody hate that word? Especially when you have to use it about your friends, your family?’ 

‘It’s condescending,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve not let my family know that word exists. They’d hate it.’ 

‘It makes it easier to draw the lines. Us and them. So we give them a silly, dehumanising name. And yet, we’re still all people, all the same.’ Dearborn sipped his tea. ‘I’ve been out of the magical world a while, but the Muggle world isn’t much better. Someone always wants to be on top. Which means they have to put someone beneath them.’ 

Lily looked at him, thought of the news she’d read in the papers of the riots, thought of the rumours he’d been writing for certain magazines in London, and quietly understood. ‘I know it’s not the same here - people aren’t getting _killed_ in Hogwarts -’ 

‘No, but we’re getting killed _out_ of Hogwarts, aren’t we. In two years, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the same people you are now, except in two years, they won’t hold back.’ His mouth thinned to a narrow, angry line. ‘I came back because Professor Dumbledore asked me to come back. But he can’t be everywhere at once, and he’s not here _now_ , and…’ Dearborn sighed. ‘Professor McGonagall thinks very highly of you, you know?’ 

‘For what that’s worth,’ said Lily, bitter before she could stop herself. 

‘She _is_ very busy,’ he agreed. ‘So you can stop by for a cup of tea any time, Lily. If you’d like.’ 

She knew she should be grateful, but it was difficult. A cup of tea was all very well, and being listened to by a teacher was making the thudding in her veins calm. But it didn’t make Professor Abernathy take action against Mulciber and Carrow. It didn’t make Professor McGonagall stick her head out from her office or classroom. And Dearborn wasn’t the first teacher to be kind to her. Sluggy was always kind. But he still turned a blind eye to what went on in his House, he still hadn’t started up his Slug Club meetings this year because it’d make his life difficult if he invited or _didn_ _’t_ invite Muggle-borns like her. The pressure was inevitable, and no doubt it would fall on Dearborn, too. 

Especially as ‘Caradoc’ didn’t sound like a very Muggle name. 

So she looked up at him and gave that smile, the one she gave to teachers when she wanted them to think she was just meek little Lily, getting on with all the burdens life had planted on her shoulders. She hadn’t used it in a while. But it had sunk into her bones nevertheless. ‘Thank you, sir. You’ve been a great help.’ His smile in return was unconvinced, but she didn’t linger so he could press the point. 

She was halfway back to the Gryffindor common room, halfway down a corridor that was mostly empty this time of the afternoon, before she realised someone was calling her name. Lily faltered for a heartbeat, afraid it was Professor Dearborn come to pretend he could make things better to soothe his own guilt, but she realised quickly the voice was too crisp, clipped, and younger. 

‘Wick, I’m really _not_ in the mood to talk about how great Dearborn’s lessons are,’ she said with a groan, turning. 

He looked like he’d jogged to catch up with her, wavy hair ruffled, collar of his robes loosened. His eyes widened at her tone, and then widened more when he saw the welt on her cheek. ‘Good God, what happened?’ 

‘Mulciber the Elder.’ Her voice was flat. She was tired of explaining, tired of being angry. ‘And yes, Professor Abernathy knows, and no, he’s not done anything about it. I’m still hungry, so can we skip the gentlemanly concern and the righteous outrage?’ 

Wick’s brow knotted. ‘I don’t -’ 

‘ _Neither_ achieve anything. This is the way Hogwarts works now, and we can be pissed off _all_ we like, but let’s face it; none of us is going to do anything to _change_ it.’ Her breathing came thicker, like frustration could choke. ‘And I get enough fuss from my friends, let alone some random guy whose first name I don’t even know.’ 

He was still silent, reeling when she left, and her mood did not improve at all through dinner. For once she sat with all the Gryffindor girls, because Dory seemed to want to be near Mary, and Tracy and Stacey weren’t going anywhere, either. To the surprise of absolutely nobody, the Marauders kept themselves sequestered down at the far end of the table, talking in hushed voices and not looking at anyone. 

Jack was not down for dinner. But it seemed like word had inevitably spread of the scrap with Mulciber; knowledge hummed through the air like invisible strings had been plucked. Nobody was ready to speak about it loud enough to draw a teacher’s attention, but enough people knew there’d been another fight. In the absence of Jack and the presence of Lily’s blossoming bruise, mumbling voices drifting over to Lily seemed quick to paint it as another clash of Slytherins against Gryffindors. 

_If that_ _’s how you want to over-simplify it._ Lily tried to tune the humming voices out, for Mary’s sake if not her own, and glared down the tables at the Marauders. ‘They’re up to something.’ 

Dory sighed and stabbed a potato with her fork. ‘When _aren_ _’t_ they? Leave it out, at least they make fun instead of beating people up.’ 

‘The number of people James Potter has hexed -’ 

‘Enough of them were Slytherin dickheads to make it a public service.’ Dory looked up. ‘You don’t have to protect Snape any more, Lily.’ 

It was the use of her actual name that had Lily realise how far Dory’s mood had sunk. She fell silent with a mixture of frustration and shame. Of course Dory felt bad; she’d been in the same scrap and was much closer to Mary. But the last thing Lily wanted to do was sweep her feelings under the carpet, even if those entailed lashing out at an innocent Wick or fixating on the Marauders. 

Not that she didn’t feel a bit bad for yelling at Wick. But Potter, at least, was always guilty. Was always up to something, and she was a prefect; it was her _job_ to thwart it. Which was why, she told herself, she paid enough attention to them once everyone was back in the common room to notice Black and Potter slip off to the toilets downstairs for a good half-hour. It was why she noticed Pettigrew and Remus were still on armchairs, going through Arithmancy notes together, which suggested they didn’t expect Potter and Black back as neither _took_ Arithmancy. It was why she noticed First Years in their ones and their twos disappearing downstairs. 

It was why she eventually stood, waved a casual farewell to the girls that was allowed to slide without question because _everyone_ was in a foul mood, and went to nosey. 

It wasn’t at all to take her frustration out on something. 

She would not be disappointed. 

The best way of catching Potter and Black in the middle of something, she knew from experience, was not to discreet and spy. It was to march up and take them by surprise. So that was what she did, descending through the toilet blocks, listening at doors, until she’d gone past the ones ever used and into the dusty, run-down depths of Gryffindor Tower she’d never bothered to investigate before. Pipes dripped and creaked, only every other sconce was lit, and she found herself both bemused at what they could _possibly_ want with somewhere this decrepit, and astonished she’d never found them infesting such a place before. 

What she didn’t expect was to find her destination by the sounds of thuds and yelps. Before Lily could think, her wand was in her hand and she was kicking the next door open, head filled not with pranks and misbehaviours but some pure-blood break-in, more fights with leering Randal Mulciber at the front. 

Instead she found one First Year - Rakesby, that was his name, the stringy little Muggle-born who was already a group’s ringleader - stood over another whose name she didn’t know yet, a boy clutching his nose. Blood flowed freely, but that didn’t stop the outbreak of cheers from the other half-dozen First Years encircling them, Sirius Black amongst them. 

Potter stood in the middle like a referee, and punched the air. ‘Great work! You’re swinging through properly, Rakesby, it’s good -’ 

But that was when Black noticed her at the door, and all colour drained from his face. ‘James.’ 

Everyone spun, except for little Rakesby’s victim, still clutching his nose and whimpering. The First Years clumped together and tried, en masse, to hide behind Black, who was staring at her like a spectre of judgement come to bring condemnation and righteous punishment, and didn’t move. Potter looked astonished for a moment, but then a slow smile teased at his lips. 

‘Evans! Welcome to the training -’ 

‘ _Training_.’ Her voice echoed through the bathroom with a rumble, and his smile dropped. ‘You’re bringing First Years down here to beat each other up in the name of _training_.’ 

Black’s eyes slammed shut. ‘Oh, bloody hell.’ 

Potter drew a deep breath. ‘They need to know how to defend -’ 

Her hand snapped up and he fell silent, so she glared at the First Years. They tried to pull back, but her voice lashed like a whip. ‘You will _all_ ,’ she said, trying to not shake with rage, ‘go upstairs and find Lupin. He will take you to the Infirmary, and you will tell him he is _then_ to escort you to your dormitories where you will _remain_ until Professor McGonagall finds you. You will help your friend.’ She gestured to the one sat up, head between his knees. ‘Is that understood?’ 

They answered in subdued chimes of, ‘Yes, miss,’ too terrified to care she wasn’t a teacher, and disappeared so quickly they might as well have Disapparated. 

Leaving her behind with Black, slinking to the background, and Potter, whose jaw was clenching with defiance. ‘I imagine,’ said Potter, ‘you’re going to tell McGonagall.’ 

‘Why _shouldn_ _’t I_?’ She’d started off calm, but it exploded into furious shouting mid-sentence. ‘What the _hell_ , Potter? Even for _you_ , this is insane!’ 

‘They’re First Years; a lot of them are Muggle-borns.’ He shrugged. ‘You know what it’s like for them -’ 

‘This isn’t defence training! This is making them beat each other up!’ 

‘They were supposed to use magic, but most of them aren’t good enough yet. So I’m showing them how to throw punches. And take punches. It’ll be good for them in the long run.’ 

‘That kid had a _broken nose_! This is _psychotic_! You’re supposed to be a Quidditch Captain, someone they _look up to_ -’ 

She’d seen James Potter tense before, but now something flashed in his eyes, an anger _she_ _’d_ never seen before. ‘Don’t _lecture_ me on responsibilities, Evans -’ 

‘ _Someone_ has to!’ 

Potter looked like he might argue again, hands on his hips, quivering with indignation, but Black stepped forward and elbowed him. ‘We’re caught out, mate,’ he said. Just as she’d never seen Potter this angry, she’d never seen Black this subdued or _guilty_. He almost looked, she thought, _relieved_. ‘We had a good run, and it’s over.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Lily acidly. ‘And it’s going to be _very_ over once Professor McGonagall hears about this.’ 

She went to leave, turned for the door, but she must have passed under one of the flickering sconces because that as when Potter stepped forward and said, voice sharp, ‘Your cheek.’ 

It was so gloomy he hadn’t spotted her bruise until now, and he’d been too occupied at dinner to notice. ‘Yes, I have one.’ 

‘Who hit you?’ 

She scoffed. ‘Don’t you worry about it, Potter. It’s things happening which don’t affect you; you’re normally _very_ good at ignoring that.’ 

Then she left, stomping furiously back up the stairs, through the common room, so angry everyone got out of her way. Dory called out, but she went ignored. Professor McGonagall would be in the staff room this time of evening, and she wanted to deal with this when she was still furious, when she couldn’t bring herself to accept any compromise. Too many people had got away with too much today. 

‘Lily!’ 

She was once again mistaking people for others in her frustration tonight; she’d somehow thought it was Potter, come to plead with her, but when she stopped at the foot of the stairs up to the staff room, she realised it was Remus. ‘Did the kids not tell you to -’ 

He’d definitely been running, chest heaving, jaw tight. ‘They’re still in the Infirmary; Madam Pomfrey’s patching them up. They’re _fine_ , Lily, it’s just a few scrapes -’ 

‘So that makes it okay?’ She crossed her arms. 

‘I didn’t say that.’ 

‘But you’re here to plead with me for Black and Potter. To help you cover this up.’ 

Remus lifted his hands, still getting his breath back. ‘I didn’t know about this. And I agree, it’s outrageous. We don’t usually _hurt_ people.’ 

‘I could think of a list who’d disagree. Stebbins, Aubrey, Clagg -’ 

‘That was all _years_ ago.’ 

‘And this was tonight! Did you even _see_ them, Remus, the kids? _Fighting_ each other, just to _amuse_ Black and Potter?’ 

‘I don’t think it was for their amusement, I…’ He sagged. ‘I think Sirius has been going along with anything James _wants_ lately. To keep him happy.’ 

‘He’s always been his yes-man.’ Lily bit her lip, and despite herself recalled the look of relief on Black’s face at her interruption. ‘But I don’t think he was the ringleader, no. Does that make a difference?’ 

‘Lily, _please_ listen.’ Remus pressed his hands together, desperate. ‘If you go up there and tell McGonagall, they’ll get detention until the apocalypse and I _agree_ they’d deserve that. But James will lose the Quidditch captaincy for this.’ 

‘Don’t you think he deserves _that_?’ 

‘Maybe, but it’ll - look, I need you to listen to me and maybe _trust_ me.’ The corners of Remus’ eyes creased. ‘Something’s wrong with James. Please don’t be sarcastic or dismissive; I mean _really_ wrong. He’s different, he’s angrier, he’s more frustrated. Something’s crawled under his skin and it’s doing him no good, and this is _why_ he’s being nastier, I think. But it’s just a phase. It’s not _him_. And that’s why Sirius is doing whatever he wants; he’s trying to cheer him up.’ 

Lily narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘And what, exactly, is the matter?’ 

‘I don’t _know_. He dodges questions.’ 

‘Hasn’t it occurred that, maybe, it’ll be for the best for teachers to hear about this behaviour?’ 

‘Because they’re _so_ good at being supportive in this school, lately.’ Remus gave her a pointed look. ‘Professor McGonagall barely has the time to deal with the really important stuff; right now, she’ll just punish James and move on, and if he loses the captaincy then I think he’s going to go off the deep end _even more._ ’ 

‘And why should I care?’ 

He looked frantic. ‘Because I’m asking you to?’ 

‘You’re asking me to let Potter get away with the _worst_ thing he’s done lately. To help cover it up, in fact. As a _favour_ to you, when all you’ve done is indulged him and Black this last year, protected them or just plain not stopped them?’ Her fists clenched so she wouldn’t be so childish as to stomp her foot. ‘You leave me to tidy up the messes that happen right in front of you, and now you want me to _drop_ this?’ 

Remus watched her for a long moment, then drew a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. 

‘That’s not good -’ 

‘And you’ll do it,’ he pressed on, ‘because otherwise it’s not fair. I’m not an idiot; I know what happened today. It might stick in your throat to let James get away with this, but you _know_ James is worth ten of Randal Mulciber.’ 

‘Two wrongs don’t -’ 

‘James and Sirius are two of the _only_ people in the school who can and _have_ fought the Slytherin pure-bloods. They’re two of the only people who don’t turn a blind eye to what happens, and then give back as good as they get. They’ve hexed Snape for bullying Muggle-borns, they _fought_ Avery in June when he started on Bray. If you get them in trouble with McGonagall, she’s going to be fair. She’s going to punish them. Punish them like Mulciber and Avery _don_ _’t_ get punished. So not only do the good guys suffer when the bad guys don’t, but the more the teachers are breathing down James and Sirius’ necks, the worse it is for _everyone_ the Slytherins might prey on.’ 

Lily stared at him, lip curling. _Where were they today?_ she wanted to say, but she knew that wasn’t fair, either. They couldn’t be everywhere at once. And while they were arrogant toe-rags, occasional bullies and irreverent pranksters, Remus wasn’t _wrong_. The Marauders were some of the few people in the school who stood up to the Slytherin gang, probably because they _could_ hold their own. 

And she’d demonstrated today, quite aptly, that _she_ couldn’t do that. 

Remus wilted, either with guilt or as if the frustration’s fading left him deflated. ‘And I _will_ try to sort out James. If this keeps up - if I can’t get through to him, or Sirius can’t - then okay. Go to McGonagall. Maybe she can bloody _help_ , if not stop him. And I owe you one.’ 

She glared at his boots as she let out a slow, raking breath. ‘Damn right, you do.’ 

He beamed at that, as relieved as he was pleased. ‘Then, come on. We have some First Years to scare out of _ever_ listening to James and Sirius again. And they’re alright, Lily, honestly. It was stupid, but it was just a bloodied nose, nothing broken.’ 

Lots was broken, Lily reflected as she acquiesced and followed Remus back to the Infirmary. But the bones of First Years weren’t the true worry. 

She slept badly that night, nostrils filled with the stench of disinfectant, words from painfully formal letters rejecting her every request, every beg, rolling through her mind. When Dory shook her awake she jolted upright, almost went for her wand, and found she was a sweating, shaking mess. 

‘I don’t - what - did I wake you -’ 

‘Christ!’ Dory ducked under a flailing arm. ‘No, it’s just almost _breakfast_. You look a bloody state, Red.’ 

The sun had risen and the dormitory was empty, Mary and the others long gone. Lily tried to slow her thudding heartbeat, her raking breathing, and brushed limp hair from her eyes. ‘Oh. Just dreams.’ 

‘I guessed,’ said Dory, sounding more her usual self, ‘cos I suspected you weren’t having a dance party in bed. Go bloody shower.’ 

She did as quickly as she could, then grabbed crumpled robes and pulled them on with only faint deference to her appearance. It was in a dishevelled state that the two of them hurried out of the near-empty Gryffindor Tower, rushed through the corridors to catch up with everyone else already at breakfast. 

Which was why they were still halfway down the stairs when the music started blaring through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. 

_‘Power to the people…’_

Dory skidded to a halt so suddenly that Lily almost crashed into her. ‘What the _hell_ is that?’ 

Lily cocked her head, bewildered. ‘I swear to God,’ she said after a moment, ‘it’s John Lennon.’ 

‘Yes, but _why can I hear him_?’ Dory stared up at her. ‘Have we spent so much time together we’re sharing joint hallucinations?’ 

‘It’s distorted; sounds like an amplification charm.’ Lily wrinkled her nose and grabbed Dory’s arm. ‘Come on.’ 

It didn’t matter where they went; still the music rolled across the corridors, followed them like it was coming from just over their shoulder, and they burst into the Great Hall to find it just as musical, and in just as much wild disarray. 

‘ _A million workers working for nothing,_  
_You better give 'em what they really own_ _…_ ’  
  
A clump of Muggle-born students - and some half-bloods - had gathered around the Gryffindor table, even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. There were too many bewildered faces amongst them for Lily to think they were behind this, but they seemed to be making the most of it with an impromptu sing-along. Front and centre was Mary Macdonald, chirpier after calming down and a night’s sleep and with her arm thrown over the shoulder of Jack Corrigan, his black eye faded by magic, the two leading the warbling. 

The teachers were snapping at each other, most students sat in mixtures of amusement and confusion, but it was to the Slytherins that Lily looked next. It was hard to not laugh at Randal Mulciber’s too-deliberate efforts at indifference, a muscle in the corner of his jaw twitching on occasion; at Saul Avery and Alecto Carrow’s barely contained spitting rage. Graham Mulciber did a better job of looking like he couldn’t care less, having brought out a hefty book to read, and when Lily looked to Emmeline Vance, she actually lifted her cup to her in a toast. 

Dory beamed and started for the singing clump of Muggle-borns. ‘When in Rome -’ 

‘Stop right there!’ That was Professor Abernathy, the stocky little head of Hufflepuff House storming between the desks towards them. ‘Evans, Meadowes, you will go _nowhere_ and you will turn this garbage _off_!’ 

Lily blinked. ‘I’m flattered you think that it was us, Professor,’ she lied, ‘but why would _we_ have any discontent to express against the teaching establishment?’ 

He was still spitting with rage when there was a shriek like a record being yanked, and the music stopped. His moustache bristled indignantly. ‘See? Mister Filch has found however you made this happen -’ 

‘Yeah!’ Lily turned to Dory. ‘How _did_ this happen? There’s no plug socket for a record player in Hogwarts, let alone the problem with electrics.’ 

Abernathy straightened to his full height, which made him approximately one inch taller than Dory. ‘We’ll get to the bottom -’ 

‘Professor Abernathy.’ That was McGonagall; as she moved down the Great Hall, the hubbub started to die out, students of all houses knowing better than to incur her wrath. ‘Evans and Meadowes are students in good standing; I am sure we will find someone _else_ at the heart of this little stunt.’ She didn’t look, Lily thought, particularly angry, especially not now the masses were calming down. ‘This is not the worst prank Hogwarts has seen.’ 

‘But the sheer _disrespect_ of it!’ Abernathy exclaimed. ‘Music of rebellion; _Muggle_ rebellion -’ 

‘And what?’ asked Lily archly, before she could stop herself, ‘is extra-wrong with _Muggle_ rebellion? Sir?’ She had to force herself to be polite, and drew no small amount of satisfaction from the suddenly hunted look in Abernathy’s eyes. 

‘Found ‘im!’ 

Neither Abernathy’s salvation nor the culprit, being dragged in by the arm by Argus Filch, were what Lily would have ever expected. ‘ _Wick_?’ 

Despite being manhandled by the caretaker, Wick still walked in with every inch of tall, aristocratic poise he could muster. He gave Filch a tired look. ‘ _Do_ be careful with that,’ he said, gesturing to the case Lily thought looked like a record player he’d tucked under his arm. ‘It was my grandfather’s.’ 

McGonagall looked just as taken aback. ‘I would not have expected a stunt like this from _you_ , Mister Wick.’ 

‘Begging your pardon, Professor, but I wouldn’t have expected such apathy from a school under your care,’ he said, perfectly sincere. But she, too, was eyeballing the case with undisguised confusion and curiosity, and Wick gave a polite smile. ‘It’s an old wind-up record player, Professor. Between that and an amplification charm, it’s quite enough to bypass the way the school prevents us from using most Muggle technology -’ 

‘We’ll have to have it _banned_ ,’ Abernathy hissed. 

McGonagall raised a hand, gaze turning bored. ‘I think it will be _confiscated_ after this mis-use, yes,’ she said archly. ‘You may have it back at the end of term, and if you wish to keep it after that, you will have to avoid such disruptive behaviour. I think a detention this Friday night with Professor Flitwick will be appropriate, yes?’ She looked at Abernathy without waiting for anyone’s response. ‘That resolves that; go make sure the Hufflepuffs don’t break into a spontaneous dance routine. _I_ will see to the Gryffindors, and then I really _must_ finish my breakfast.’ 

Then she left, and Abernathy sputtered on the spot before he, too, hurried off, and then all the Great Hall behind them was a flurry of teachers desperately stamping out the last pockets of ebullient disruption from the morning’s excitement. 

Wick’s only sign of distress was a brief, longing glance towards his record player as Filch hurried off with it. Then he gave Lily a small, polite smile. ‘He’s got record, too; I imagine I shan’t see _that_ again.’ 

She’d yelled at him last night, Lily remembered, and for one awful moment of stabbing guilt she was terrified he’d gone and got himself in trouble for _her_. ‘That was - it was -’ 

‘Really _cool_ ,’ Dory supplied. 

‘Yeah,’ Lily agreed. ‘Yeah, it really was, Wick -’ 

He winced, but smiled. ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Gerald. Which might make my enigmatic manner a little clearer.’ 

‘ _Gerald_ -’ Dory clamped her mouth shut, obviously about to laugh, obviously not wanting to do that to him. 

‘Quite,’ he said. ‘So I’d consider it a courtesy if you pretended I’d never told you that. Or, at least, never _called_ me that.’ 

But he was looking only at Lily, and she could only nod mutely as Gerald Wick shoved his hands in his pockets and, whistling the same jaunty song he’d blared across Hogwarts, sauntered back to the Ravenclaw table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty mad that 'Another Brick in the Wall' wasn't released until 1979 or that would have made a much better song for Wick to use.
> 
> And Dearborn's talk of poetry and the works of Adrian Henri is specifically citing 'Without You.'


	12. He That Gazeth on the Skies

_Yet the old again shall be_  
_When the time you see_  
_That the King enjoys his own again_  
_\- ‘When the King Enjoys His Own Again,’ (17th Century)_

Storm-clouds rolled over another above, toiling for dominance like the Wild Hunt itself hounded them. Saul had taken one look at them that morning and wondered if Hogwarts had committed some slight to bring down the wrath of a thunder god. Graham had said nothing. He knew the thunder gods, and knew they needed no offence to unleash the heavens on unsuspecting mortals. But now he had to face their fury head-on, stalking through the lashing rain down the slippery slopes of the school grounds towards Kettleburn’s paddocks. Even with precautions of thick outdoors robes with a good hood and hefty boots, he knew it was for nothing. He’d be soaked to the bone before long. 

_…uncompromising and uncontained; may I persevere, unrepressed, in adversity…_

‘Mulciber!’ 

There were times he had to pause before responding to such calls; more often than not, they wanted his brother. But out here in the storm there was only him. Graham turned to see the broad form of Paul Bane tromping through mud to catch up. He stopped despite himself, despite that never had he and Bane exchanged words before. 

Bane grinned a broad, uncertain smile, hand raised to keep up his hood. ‘Hell of a day for it, huh?’ Saul and Randal were convinced Bane was throwing his lot in with Leo Travers in Hufflepuff. Graham suspected Paul Bane wanted nothing more than to be nice to everyone, and had yet to learn this was impossible without the greatest of compromises. 

But it was better than walking through the rain alone. And likely better than the companionship that awaited him. ‘It’s the price we pay for a good summer.’ 

‘Is that how it goes?’ Bane chuckled as they made their careful way down slippery paths. ‘You get the good, so you’ve _got_ to get the bad?’ 

‘Someone has to get the bad, at least.’ 

Bane glanced at him uncertainly, then said, instead, ‘Sorry about how it all went down.’ Graham didn’t know what he was talking about, and so remained silent. He found silence better than questions; people raced to fill the gulf with whatever words sat on the tips of their tongues. ‘This class, I mean. What with us grabbing all the good animals, and you being stuck with Hargreaves - not that I mind Hargreaves, she’s just tough to work with -’ 

‘I don’t know her.’ He wasn’t interested in debating the virtues of his new partner. It would change nothing. ‘And it’s worked out with the animals. Kettleburn sent me a note this morning. The Granian arrived last night.’ 

‘Wow.’ Smiles came much easier to Bane. ‘Working with a Granian; that’s cool.’ 

It would come, Graham knew, with more shifts that summer at the Rothachs’ farm. He would pay for a good Care of Magical Creatures grade with his labour, and a piece of that most elusive economy amongst the wizarding class of Britain: an undefined favour. But he was saved, at least, from pretending to be interested in the Banes’ hippogriff by their arrival at Kettleburn’s paddocks, and the wide barns at the far end. To his surprise they were almost the last arrivals; Sharon Bane was ribbing her brother for tardiness the moment they arrived, and Macdonald and Richmond cooed over something in one of the stalls. There was no sign of Hargreaves. 

He watched Macdonald’s gaze flick over at their arrival then immediately drop, like she’d picked up something too hot to hold and the mere sight of him burnt. Graham knew these reactions well, even though they belonged to his brother, not to him. There was not much similarity between the siblings; both tall, but Randal had the advantage in build and, by all accounts, looks. What was strength and charm in Randal was gaunt severity in Graham, and he never smiled enough to soften it. But they shared that same golden hair, those same blue eyes, even if Randal’s were the sky and Graham’s were ice. Randal should have been the fairer to look at, and yet it was at the shadow of him in Graham that Mary Macdonald flinched at, not Graham himself. 

He did not avert his gaze, because he was not his brother and refused to harness guilt for deeds Randal never regretted. But still he moved on as swiftly as pride would allow, because looking at her reminded him of Randal’s crowing success - in past months of deeds long gone, in past days of his recent fray - that still tasted bitter. 

Kettleburn limped out of his office, such as it was; a small room off the barn Graham was not certain was water-proof. He was dry, though, and smacked his hook on the wooden wall to get their attention. ‘We were supposed to have the paddocks today, get your beasties out into the open. We’ll have to make do as suits _them_ in this weather; the hippogriff won’t mind, at least. But let this be a lesson to you: come rain or shine, you _must_ see to these animals - what’re you _doing_ , girl -’ 

That was to Richmond, who had unhooked the door to her stall to get a better peep inside. Kettleburn’s urgency implied grave danger, but there was nothing from the darkness but a series of high-pitched yips - and then a dark, fluffy shape thudded into her chest and bowled her to the floor. 

‘You don’t unharness an animal without knowing -’ 

But Kettleburn’s warnings could not have fallen on more deaf ears if they’d tried. Rather than savaged by some foul beast, Richmond had been knocked over by a three-headed puppy, who was proceeding to try and lick her face with all of its tongues at once. 

‘Oh, Merlin,’ groaned Sharon Bane. ‘That’s the most adorable thing I ever saw. How come we didn’t get the cute thing, Paul?’ 

_Because while a three-headed dog has interesting training and dietary requirements, the challenge of a hippogriff will get you a_ much _better grade._

‘You _stupid_ girl!’ Kettleburn lurched over to grab the hound by the scruff of one of its necks and haul it in the air. Immediately, another of its heads tried to lick the Professor’s face, so he held it at arm’s length, resisting its fluffy cuteness. ‘There could have been anything in there! You had no idea of the creature’s temperament! It could have been an _illusion,_ there to lull you into a false sense of security only to _strike_ -’ 

‘Look at its _paws_!’ Mary Macdonald squealed. 

‘They were right,’ a low voice drawled next to Graham, and he glanced over to see Hargreaves had appeared from nowhere in all the excitement. ‘NEWT classes are _super_ more intense.’ She was doing a fair impression of a drowned rat, her outer robes too small and inadequate against such conditions. In years past they wouldn’t have been expected to go outside in this weather, but still she stood, tall and smirking and doing a good job of looking unaffected at how cold she had to be. 

‘There was a serious risk of Richmond’s heart bursting,’ Graham agreed. 

‘Or Kettleburn’s melting. Maybe he’ll learn the true meaning of Christmas.’ 

‘I’ll expect!’ Kettleburn burst, giving up on his lecture and returning the puppy to Richmond and Macdonald. Thankfully it had tongues to lick them both at once. ‘Your second piece of work in the portfolio to be about _first contact procedures_ with an unfamiliar creature! Use this as a _lesson_!’ 

‘All due care must be taken against such a fearsome beast,’ Hargreaves agreed solemnly. 

Graham watched as the girls put down the pup, which proceeded to chase its own tail. This became harder as the heads fought over which one got to do the biting. ‘Waterproof gear will be provided to protect against insistent licking.’ 

‘Ear-plugs blocking out girlish squealing must follow Ministry safety requirements.’ 

Kettleburn glared at them. ‘Let’s go see _your_ beastie, then, shall we? Everyone else, just - oh, play with the damn pup.’ He led them down the row of stalls, all of them different sizes. Many held various creatures for his OWL lessons, but in the storm most animals were content to hunker down and wait for the rain to end. There was the occasional squawk or snort, but the predominant sound was the thudding of rain on a thin wooden roof, and the sound of yipping far behind them. 

‘I had to tidy up some things in Herbology,’ Hargreaves said apropos of nothing, stiff and taut as they walked. Graham again fell onto the tactic of not talking, merely giving her a sidelong look. She visibly bristled. ‘It’s why I was late. It were Sprout. I couldn’t get out of it.’ 

He realised she expected him to be angry, and frowned. He spent enough of his life tip-toeing around wild insecurities in the Slytherin common room to want to indulge them in class. And yet he had to work with this girl. ‘It’s not a problem,’ he said, aiming to avoid passive aggression to just move the topic on. 

‘She was shipped in late last night,’ Kettleburn called over his shoulder as he limped. ‘Her box kept her dry against the rain and she’s used to Scottish weather or she’s the worst Granian I saw. But she’s still in an unfamiliar place; don’t let her fly freely -’ 

‘For about a month, so she’s acclimatised to this being home,’ Graham drawled. ‘And otherwise only exercise her on a lunge rope.’ 

‘You’ll have to do that every day. She’s not a dog; she needs a lot of exercise. It’s going to be a _long_ week. I checked her out; she’s fine and healthy.’ 

‘Good - I’ve worked on the Rothachs’ farm some summers, sir, I can handle a yearling.’ 

‘I wasn’t going to tell you how to,’ said Kettleburn flatly, and pointed to a stall ahead with his hook. ‘She’s in there. I’ll be with the Banes and their hippogriff. It’s filthy. They’re in for a laugh.’ 

Graham did smirk as Kettleburn left, and said to Hargreaves’ nonplussed look, ‘Cleaning Hippogriffs is hell. You ever saw a chicken take a bath?’ 

‘Not that many live chickens in Brixton.’ Now, instead of defensive, she seemed unsure. 

‘They roll in dust. Cleans off the feathers. Hippogriffs do it, too, but that makes a mess of the non-feathery bits, too.’ He looked at the stall. ‘I take it you’re not that familiar with horse care, either.’ 

‘Not flying horses, neither.’ She folded her arms across her chest, also eyeballing the stall. 

‘That’s fine. I do know what I’m doing. Most of it’s just graft.’ He approached the door and peered over into the gloom. Catching a glimpse of a silhouette in the darkness was no simple matter, but then darkness moved. Despite himself, he smiled. ‘I’ll bring her out.’ 

‘Is that -’ 

‘We should both meet her, get her used to us. And that’s best done out here, not in a confined space. It’s fine, the Rothachs train their yearlings.’ 

He unhooked a halter off the wall and slid into the gloom alongside the dark beast. A nose soft as velvet investigated him, hot-breathed and snuffling, and he rose a hand to the withers, felt the warmth and muscle underneath. ‘Hullo,’ Graham murmured, voice as soft as the nose. ‘You’re a fine lass, aren’t you. We’re going to take care of you, now.’ He knew to be slow and careful with a beast in an unfamiliar environment, moved far from home, but she was cooperative as he slipped the halter on and led the her out the stall. 

He heard, rather than saw, Hargreaves’ reaction; by the time he looked over, her expression was more or less under control, but the catch of her breath had been unmistakable. Suppressing a smile, he tethered the Granian out in the barn, and stepped back to his partner to survey their new project in all her glory. The beast was a good fourteen or fifteen hands, coal black from coat to long, feathery wings. Still gangly in that way yearlings could be before they had grown into their height, she hoofed at the ground and snuffled the walls, the ground, before, finally, the noble head swung around for dark, intelligent eyes to fix on them. 

But Graham was watching Hargreaves; watching the flicker on her brow, the parting of her lips. He had seen dozens of such beasts of all ages and sizes, so there was far more to see in a Muggle-born from Brixton’s first close-up encounter with a flying horse. 

Then her mouth snapped shut and she said, like asking about the weather, ‘What’s her name?’ 

‘It was in the letter…’ He reached for his pockets. ‘Go say hello.’ A flicker in her expression suggested he’d earned a sardonic comment, but somehow she held her tongue and, slowly, reverently, approached the beast while he fished out the message the Rothachs had sent him last week. 

‘Muirne,’ said Graham, and watched as Hargreaves extended a flat palm under the nose to be duly investigated, and snuffled. 

_Now_ she smiled, and, with her focus on the horse, he let himself grin, too. ‘Muirne,’ she murmured, her brow knotting. ‘You’re - I’ll do the bloody work but I’ll need you or Kettleburn to tell me for a bit what that work _is_ -’ 

‘Of course,’ he said calmly. ‘Most of it’s labour, and not that difficult once you know the routine. She’ll be well-trained by the Rothachs; it’s her care and exercise we’ll be more responsible for. We can work out a shift pattern, but she’ll need attention every day. Mucking out, and all that. And once she’s accustomed to us, to the area, allowed to fly freely, we’ll find some tack and can ride her.’ 

Her eyes widened. ‘What, like, when she’s flying?’ 

He padded over to join her, patted Muirne’s shoulder. ‘She _is_ a flying horse. It’s even better than broom-riding.’ But then, she probably didn’t own a broom, either, and this reminded him of the state she’d been in when she’d arrived at the barn. ‘Wait here.’ 

When he returned, it was with a wooden box, but also a towel that he tossed to her. ‘Dry off. Warm up.’ 

‘I’m not -’ 

‘You’ll need a better coat. We’re going to be coming out here in all weather, and these storms don’t seem set to stop any time soon.’ He put down the box and snapped it open. ‘Now, when you’re done, I’ll talk you through grooming her and then the fun part: mucking out.’ 

It was easier like this. Easier to focus on a job, to focus on Muirne, than to wonder what they’d think about him down in the Slytherin common room for sharing this work - hard, important work on a magical beast - with a Mudblood. Explaining the process as he went, the nuggets of insight into what was for him the everyday and mundane, but was for her a secret world. It would probably have been enough of a novelty for Hargreaves to be expected to work on any horse, but now here she was, set for two years to work with one of the finest magical beasts in the country. 

They were busy for so long, and their attention so diverted, that they almost didn’t notice when Macdonald appeared down their end of the barn and, still not looking at him, said, ‘Kettleburn wants us back to finish up.’ 

Hargreaves watched the Muggle-born’s retreat, and when she looked back at him, the tension had returned to her dark eyes to give them a hard, flinty edge. ‘I reckon you get that a lot.’ 

Graham cycled through his options, and settled on a non-committal noise before un-tethering Muirne. ‘I’ll put her away. Tidy the brushes?’ 

‘Being as,’ she continued, and he sighed as he realised she had no intention of dropping this, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being a shit to someone direct. Standing next to the ones being shits, yeah. And then there’s your brother -’ 

His jaw tightened, and he hid his expression by opening the stall. ‘I’m here to work. To do this project and to get a good NEWT. I’m really not interested in talking about the rest of school.’ 

Her expression was returned to that studied, controlled mask when he emerged from the stall, Muirne put away with her fresh straw and feed. ‘Right. That might mean you’ve got to condemn or defend your brother, your friends.’ 

‘If I were like them,’ he spat before he could stop himself, ‘would I have agreed to work with you, Hargreaves? Practically gift-wrap you a good NEWT? Show you how to _do_ all this? Saul or my brother would have thrown a _tantrum_ at this pairing.’ 

‘So you’ll agree to work with me like you would anyone else.’ She lifted her hands. ‘My mistake, Human Being of the Year Award due _right_ here.’ 

‘What do you _want_ from me, Hargreaves?’ 

Her chin tilted up a half-inch. ‘Guess I just wanted to know where we stand. I don’t much like the thought of you planning to beat the shit out of me when my back’s turned.’ 

‘I don’t -’ 

‘Maybe you don’t, but the look on Mary Macdonald’s face makes it clear she don’t know how much like your brother you are. He did a right little number on her last year, if you cared. Tried to do it again the other day, but Evans and Corrigan stopped him.’ 

Graham flinched, remembering Amycus’ laugh as he related breaking Corrigan’s nose. ‘All I want,’ he said flatly, ‘is to get through school in one piece.’ 

‘Then you and I,’ said Hargreaves, ‘got the same aims. Think that makes for a peace accord? Work together here, _ignore_ each other elseways?’ She stuck out her hand. It was an odd sort of formality, and yet comforting in its way. Graham spent so much of his time trying to gauge the hidden meanings in words, in watching everyone’s subtle inference or avoidance, that this blunt, open declaration was more refreshing than he’d anticipated. 

He gave a curt nod and, with Kettleburn’s voice echoing down the barn to demand they move their arses, they shook hands. 

The rest of the lesson passed without incident, excluding the threat to his vomit reflex when he discovered Macdonald and Richmond had named the three-headed puppy ‘Princess.’ But over the afternoon of Kettleburn directing them on the necessary pieces of work to add to their portfolio and helping acquaint them with their creatures and their rudimentary care, it did at least stop raining. Dark clouds rolled back to clad the sky in dirty grey, as if they had stained it with their passing. 

This meant the Quidditch practice would not be cancelled, and so Graham set off at a brisk pace with barely an obligatory farewell the moment Kettleburn released them. With all this way to walk back to the castle, he would have to hurry to not be late. 

Which made it more than a little disconcerting when he walked into the dorm to find Saul had laid out all of his Quidditch gear for him. ‘You better hurry,’ his friend proclaimed, out of uniform himself, arms folded across his chest. 

‘You need to stop living vicariously through my Quidditch career,’ Graham pointed out, inspecting the array to make sure Saul hadn’t forgotten anything. He hadn’t, and Graham had to glance up and smile. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Thank me by _winning_.’ Saul hesitated. ‘Your brother’s in a foul mood, by the way. I would avoid upsetting him.’ 

_I always avoid upsetting him_ , Graham thought as he peeled off damp uniform layers. ‘Why today?’ 

‘He had a clash of some sort with Dearborn.’ 

‘The Muggle Studies teacher?’ 

‘Mn. Some manner of confrontation with Dearborn challenging his suitability as a prefect.’ 

‘Dearborn’s new.’ Graham pulled his padding over his head. ‘He’ll learn soon enough that Sluggy knows better than that.’ 

‘I know. But Randal was talking recriminations.’ 

Graham did stop at that. ‘Against a teacher?’ That would open up a whole new theatre in their little war. ‘I don’t see what we could do.’ 

‘Perhaps not us.’ Saul’s brow knotted. ‘Randal spoke of writing to Rabastan.’ 

Which would mean involving the Cause beyond their walls, an overt and violent move against Professor Dearborn at a time when he wasn’t shrouded by the iron curtain of Hogwarts. ‘I’m not sure this is a path we want to go down.’ 

‘Neither am I,’ Saul admitted, unusually possessing of his own opinion. ‘I’d wondered if you’d talk to him.’ 

Graham frowned and pulled on his gloves. ‘I don’t _handle_ Randal for you. You know this.’ 

‘Not for _me_. For him. For _us_. Escalation against teachers, involving outside forces in our business - we can’t possibly anticipate where that will end, Graham. But Randal is getting more… _assertive_.’ Saul’s expression pinched. ‘I worry he’s listening too much to the Carrows.’ 

_And not enough to you, you mean. There_ _’s the true fear_. But for once Saul’s political interests and what was best for everyone were in alignment. Graham slipped on his emerald robes, the team trim finishing the padding, and buckled his belt. ‘I’ll speak with him. But you know I have no power.’ 

‘I was hoping the fact you rarely _try_ might make him realise it’s serious. Now. Go kick some Gryffindor arse.’ 

‘It’s practice, Saul.’ 

‘Then imagine Gryffindor arse - wait, no. Don’t do that.’ Saul made a face. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’ 

Rising to the common room and up into the corridors, Nimbus 1001 slung over his shoulder, Graham stormed through the crowds and out into the open in such a hurry that he almost ran into Severus Snape coming the other way. Only a swift side-step stopped him from sending his fellow Slytherin skidding across the floor, and with a jolt, Graham grabbed his arm. ‘Sorry, Snape. Didn’t see you there.’ 

Snape had still been ramming papers into his bag, black, greasy hair falling across his face like an unpleasant veil through which he now peered to look Graham up and down. ‘No trouble,’ he mumbled. ‘Oh, it’s a Quidditch night?’ 

_No, I dress like this to make a statement._ Graham instead nodded. 

‘I’ll come with you,’ Snape said in a peremptory manner. ‘I need to speak with the Carrows as it is.’ 

Graham gave his thin, indoor robes and his satchel full of papers a dubious look, then decided it was nothing to do with him if the heavens opened and Snape was soaked. ‘As you wish,’ he said flatly, and turned for the corridors. 

Snape stalked in his wake like a skulking shadow, head bowed, clutching his bag to him tightly. It took him a while before he said anything. ‘Have you - did your brother mention his fight the other day?’ 

‘With that brute Corrigan? No more to me than anyone else. I think it speaks for itself.’ 

‘But it wasn’t just Corrigan, was it,’ Snape pressed on. 

Graham remembered the look in Mary Macdonald’s eye, remembered how his brother had never explicitly stated what he did to her in February 1975 and yet crowed about it all the same. His jaw tightened as his mind sheered away from the dark corners it was better for everyone if no light found them. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘It was not.’ 

‘I mean, there was Evans - did you see her face?’ 

Clarity was not especially welcome, not when it came with Snape’s simpering. Graham had enough on his plate without being sought as an ally against his brother’s brutality towards some wretched Mudblood Snape still desperately pined over. ‘You recall, Severus,’ he snapped, ‘how you no longer spend time with Evans, which is why my brother is much more inclined to listen to you now?’ 

Snape’s expression closed like a vice. ‘I _know_ ,’ he said, voice low and throaty. ‘I just think we should be _measured_ in our moves. Deliberate, not needlessly brutish.’ 

‘That is rather Amycus’ job,’ Graham said with fading interest. ‘Don’t deprive a lad his livelihood.’ 

‘The fact is that your brother bungled another attack on Macdonald -’ 

Graham stopped, spinning to face Snape, shoulders tense. ‘That is not the fact. The fact is that you are upset Evans was hurt. Be upset; I couldn’t care less. But don’t deign to lecture my brother with some pretence of high ground.’ 

Snape stared back, unruffled by the confrontation. It took him a moment before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was a low drawl. ‘Curious,’ he observed. ‘I wasn’t sure _you_ cared, Graham, at all.’ 

Reeling himself in was like corralling an unwilling horse back into its stall before a storm; hard, but necessary, and Graham made himself scoff as he turned away. ‘Right now, I care about getting to Quidditch.’ 

They heard the humming before they rounded the last corner before the main doors - that tune, that blasted tune Wick had spat across the school that somehow made the Muggle-borns so damned _smug_ , like they’d made a statement and won a victory somewhere. That was the worst of it, in Graham’s eyes; it was a message neither he nor the Slytherins could read the whole of, but it was undoubtedly an insult, a challenge, and in their uncertainty they didn’t know the best way to answer it. A glance at Snape and his curling lip suggested he was just as irked at the sound of it. 

‘ _Power to the people_ _…_ ’ 

It was some Gryffindor third year boy, short and pudgy and alone. Graham relaxed an iota when the boy ignored them, likely not trying to send a message, likely just singing to himself. Then he saw Snape go for his wand. 

‘ _Power to the pe-_ ’ Then a yelp, a thud, and with a muttered incantation Snape had sent the boy flying across the corridor to be pinned halfway up the wall. 

‘Stop. _Singing_ ,’ Snape snarled. 

Graham paused, Hargreaves’ words thundering in his head. _I don_ _’t think I’ve ever seen you being a shit to someone direct. Standing next to the ones being shits, yeah._

The boy struggled, powerless against invisible forces pinning him in place. ‘I’m - I’m sorry!’ he yelped, and from the way he’d come arrived another half-dozen younger students, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and all of them freezing in place at the sight of the confrontation. 

Snape cast them a disinterested look. They were two sixth year Slytherins, and even a gaggle this size wouldn’tthink to try to free their comrade. The school told them, over and over, to beware the big bad Slytherins, and sometimes, just sometimes, that reputation worked in Graham’s favour. Then Snape’s leer turned back to the pinned boy. ‘If I hear that song again,’ he sneered, ‘if I hear it sung, if I hear it whistled, if I hear it _hummed_ , by _anyone_ , I won’t just scrub out their mouths with a _Scourgify_. I’ll scrub out yours. Understood?’ 

The boy whimpered, and Snape whipped his wand to jerk him across the corridor again, crashing him into the opposite wall. The thump wasn’t that solid, the impact to rattle more than hurt. 

Graham only took a half-step forward. _All I want is to get through school in one piece_. And he stopped. 

‘Understood!’ the boy squealed, and, with a disinterested sigh, Snape, lifted his wand and let him fall to the floor. 

Through long eyelashes, he gazed down the corridor at the rest of the gaggle. ‘Tell all your friends,’ he sneered, before starting again down the corridor towards the main doors. 

And Graham followed. 

It still wasn’t raining when they got outside, and judging by the clouds remaining dirty, not black, it looked as if they might be lucky that night. Snape peeled off for the stands once they made it to the grounds, leaving Graham to troop his solitary way across the pitch to where his brother stood, the lone figure still on the ground as the rest of the Slytherin team zipped about the skies above. 

‘You’re late,’ Randal Mulciber declared as he walked up. 

‘I had to get up from the paddocks. It’s a long way.’ 

Randal looked him up and down, gaze tense. ‘Laps,’ he said at last. 

Graham’s jaw tightened. ‘You scheduled this _fifteen minutes_ after classes ended; it’s not reasonable to expect -’ 

‘If I go soft on you, everyone will say it’s because you’re my brother.’ Randal’s expression was like a void into which fraternal love went to die. ‘ _Laps_.’ 

That was the reason he didn’t bring up the Dearborn issue, Graham told himself as he tossed down his broom to begin the gruelling, embarrassing circuits of the Quidditch pitch on foot, for all the rest of the team at their lofty heights to see. Randal was in a bad mood, with him and the world; he wasn’t being his brother, he was being his captain. It was not, in so many ways, the right time. 

It was, he thought as he remembered hesitating next to Snape mere minutes ago, never the right time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed chapter! I'm in a busy patch with studies right now and don't want to blend my buffer of finished, unposted chapters. Updates will still be coming at worst once a fortnight, maybe the weekly rate if I get lucky, until about mid-May. Then I hope to get shedloads done over summer!


	13. Black Dog

_I gotta roll, can't stand still, got a flaming heart, can't get my fill_  
_Eyes that shine burning red, dreams of you all through my head._  
_-_ _‘Black Dog,’ Led Zeppelin (1971)_

‘I don’t - _mmf_ \- did you hear?’ 

‘ _Mm_ \- is someone coming?’ 

‘What?’ 

‘What?’ 

Sirius pulled back, Marlene’s face little more than a silhouette in the darkened storage room, which meant she probably couldn’t see his frown. ‘You said you heard something? In the corridor?’ 

‘No…’ Her fingers curled in the hair at the nape of his neck, but still she sounded more concerned than breathless. ‘I asked if _you_ _’d_ heard.’ 

This was becoming a decidedly more confusing way to spend his lunch break than he’d expected. ‘About _what_?’ 

‘Jack Corrigan.’ 

He couldn’t stop himself from pouting. ‘We’ve been in here for the last ten minutes and you’re thinking about that greaseball?’ 

‘What on _Earth_ is a grease- never mind. And that’s not what I mean, you - you know you’re perfectly good at being distracting but this is still a thing!’ Her voice went that indignant pitch higher he was still, thankfully, finding cute. ‘You heard how the Slytherins beat him up?’ 

Sirius’ hands slid down to her waist as his shoulders slumped, holding her now at arms’ length. He suspected he was not going to be able to steer the situation back to his advantage. ‘What about it?’ 

‘What do you mean, “what about it”? It _happened_ and it’s really not good -’ 

‘You know he’s a bruiser and a thug; you saw him at the party. I wouldn’t wish Mulciber on anyone, but better Corrigan than someone who doesn’t _pick_ fights.’ He leaned down to kiss along her jaw and felt her, at last, begin to relax. ‘You shouldn’t worry about him, babes. So long as they’re going for him, they’re not going for _you_.’ 

‘They - they did hit Lily, though.’ Marlene sounded like she was, at last, struggling to concentrate on the topic at hand. 

‘Yeah, but she got in the middle of it.’ James would, Sirius suspected, kick him for this indifference, but a man needed to focus on the here and now, and worrying about Mulciber smacking Lily Evans did nobody any favours. 

‘And Lily said it only happened because Mulciber went for Mary Macdonald -’ 

Sirius’ head snapped up, and his grip on her tightened with urgency, not desire. ‘What?’ 

Marlene blinked. ‘That’s what Lily said. Mulciber was going for Mary, so she and Jack Corrigan and Dory got involved and the whole thing turned into some sort of rolling fight.’ 

‘I didn’t hear that.’ 

‘Apparently Abernathy’s been cracking down on the situation so Lily doesn’t want to cause trouble by blurting it out. We talked about it in Potions this morning. Well, that and the best way to appropriately squeeze eye of newt so it was a pretty busy -’ 

An old, bitter taste rose in the back of Sirius’ throat, and he couldn’t swallow it down fast enough. ‘Randal Mulciber attacked Mary again.’ 

‘Tried. But she’s alright, isn’t she -’ 

He let go, and pushed open the closet door. ‘I should go check up on her. It’s almost time for class anyway.’ 

‘Sirius -’ 

He was halfway out before she spoke, and he understood the plaintive edge to her voice. Summoning one of his more charming smiles, he turned back, met her gaze. ‘Babes, it’s not like that. She’s just a friend.’ 

‘Sirius, I’m not going to get madly insecure because you’re worried when your ex-girlfriend’s been _attacked_.’ 

This was said with a most transparent flicker of her gaze. Doing anything about it, though, would delay him, so all he did was kiss her on the cheek and say, ‘You’re the best,’ before bounding off. If he made it to the Great Hall quickly enough, Mary would probably still be there, taking a leisurely lunch with Tracy and Stacey before classes resumed for the day; she was not the kind of girl to hit the library on her break. 

She _had_ been the kind of girl to sneak off for some privacy with him, and she certainly hadn’t filled the time fussing over someone else’s news several days old. But this unfavourable comparison to Sirius’ present choice of companionship was not why he sought her out. 

He was so focused as he stalked down the corridor that he barely noticed James appearing at his elbow on the last turn, expression set, voice tight. ‘There’s a situation, Pads.’ 

This was a different kind of serious James, Sirius noticed with relief. He was focused, not grumpy, and there was agitation to his gait, not the disinterested surliness that had defined him these past weeks. ‘What’ve we got, and can it wait?’ 

James looked indignant, and grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘Code Snivellus.’ 

‘ _He_ was involved in the Mulciber scrap?’ 

‘What? No, he attacked Dixon last night; threw him around for _singing_. Right in front of a bunch of other Third Years, while little Mulciber watched his back.’ 

Finally, James had Sirius’ full attention. ‘Singing?’ 

‘The song Wick played. I assume Snivellus took it as an _insult_. So he threw a Gryffindor Muggle-born into a wall.’ James jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Come on.’ 

It wasn’t just because James looked like he _cared_ about something after long, sulky weeks that Sirius found himself following, his mission to find Mary abandoned for now. But he knew James, and he knew James’ moods; once he was this sort of focused, this sort of _angry_ , not even Sirius’ most rampant disinterest could divert him. And it _was_ about time they caught up with Snape for throwing his lot so whole-heartedly in with the Cult of Randal Mulciber. 

‘You’ve got a plan?’ 

‘Nothing special, but we were due a proper reunion. I thought a spot of public humiliation when he doesn’t have time to scrub up before classes.’ James reached into his robes and pulled out a draw-string hemp pouch. ‘Or, better yet, _in_ class.’ 

‘We don’t have anything with him ‘til Potions again -’ 

‘Which is why I need you to distract him.’ James smiled one of his sunny smiles. ‘He should be coming down from the library. Wait here.’ 

They were not alone in the corridor, so there was no opportunity for anything overt, but nor was it crowded enough for anyone to get close without being noticed. Sirius wasn’t sure _what_ James had in mind, but then his friend had disappeared around a corner and he was supposed to wait. 

So wait he did, hands in his pockets, wondering why he’d not heard about Mulciber attacking Mary, when the lanky, greasy shape of Snape appeared down the stairwell. He was not alone, Alecto Carrow walking with him, and Sirius was idly grateful for the audience of passing students. Alecto would pick a fight if she thought she could get away with it, and now was not the time. 

‘ _Sniiivelus_.’ He let his voice roll along the corridor as he leaned nonchalantly against a wall, the same low, sing-song call he’d used when Snape was alone and isolated in younger years. It didn’t hurt to remind him, now he was bigger, more puffed up, _nastier_ , of a time when he hadn’t been so protected. 

Snape tried to ignore him, entrenched in conversation with Alecto, but her eyes flitted over languidly. 

‘You seem to think, Black, that we want your opinion,’ she drawled. 

_Oh, good. She hasn_ _’t learnt to ignore me_. He lifted his hands, all lazy innocence. ‘I was just talking to Snivvy here. But I _must_ say, Alecto, it’s so _nice_ to see you growing into your own now you’re not dangling from Vance’s apron-strings. How’s it going for you, these days, having an individual thought of your own? Is it good? Liberating?’ 

She opened her mouth to retort, but Snape grabbed her arm. ‘He remains, Alecto, _thoroughly_ not worth it. If he had something, he would have done or said it.’ 

_True enough. I_ _’m just not the one with something_. But there was no sign of James, so Sirius kept talking. ‘Can’t we just make pleasant conversation, Snivellus? Chat about the day? The weather? The thirteen year-old you threw into a wall? I’d tell you to pick on someone your own size, Snivvy, but you’ve always been _small_.’ 

Snape’s lip curled before he turned away. ‘Let’s go.’ 

‘I’m just saying!’ Sirius called to his departing back, by now more interested in the bicker than anything James wanted him to do, ‘you were barking up the wrong tree if you thought beating up children might win you back Evans!’ 

Then Snape spun, wand in hand. ‘ _Morsus!_ ’ 

‘ _Protego_!’ Sirius had kept his hand on his wand the moment Snape turned his back, but now he twirled it in his fingers as Snape’s spell dissipated harmlessly off his Shield. ‘Ah-ah, Snivvy! Aren’t we a bit close to the library? Aren’t there a few too many prying eyes here?’ He looked to one of the students who had frozen the moment spells started flying. ‘Didn’t he start it? You all saw him try to hex _me_ first, right?’ At the mute nod, Sirius smiled a fixed smile at Snape. ‘Trot along, now. Before you embarrass yourself.’ 

It was Alecto’s turn to grab Snape by the arm. ‘You’re right, Severus. He’s got nothing,’ she sneered, and pulled him off down the corridor. 

Sirius grinned to himself, then lifted his hands innocently to the students who were just about figuring they could go about their business. ‘Hey, hey. That was self-defence. I just wanted to _talk_.’ Nobody looked convinced; but then, none of them looked sympathetic towards Snape, either, so Sirius waited a little before heading after the two Slytherins, as the Great Hall was the most likely place he’d find James anyway. 

James was, indeed, waiting for him at the double doors. Snape and Alecto got a coy, teasing wave as they wandered for the Slytherin table to meet up with the rest of the gang, but Sirius won one of James’ more genuine smiles in weeks. ‘Good work, Pads. Almost makes what I did not worth it.’ 

‘What _did_ you do?’ Sirius had to return the grin. ‘I thought your dad found out you’d taken the Cloak?’ He’d assumed the Potters weren’t going to knowingly allow their family legacy to continue to be used for extra-curricular shenanigans and hijinks around school, when James had given him the bad news in an early letter over summer. 

James’ smile tensed, and he shrugged. ‘I’ve still got it. Anyway, I slipped the pouch in his bag when Carrow grabbed him. It should go off when he opens it again.’ 

‘Go off?’ 

Then there was a _fizz_ , a strangled sound of surprise, and a chorus of low, shocked noises. Sirius’ head whipped around to see Snape drop his bag and reel back, pawing at himself. It was a dungbomb, or the like, that Sirius had anticipated; what had instead burst from the bag was a greasy brown gunk that coated itself across Snape’s face, shoulders - _hair_. The Great Hall fell silent for only a heartbeat of astonishment. It wasn’t full, most professors and students already heading off for class, which meant _everyone_ there saw and heard what had just happened to Snape. And most of them burst into laughter. 

James _beamed_ and high-fived Sirius. ‘Nice work, Pads. Justice is done.’ At the Gryffindor table, Sirius could hear Dorcas Meadowes yelling, ‘ _I told you to try lemon shampoo_!’ across the Hall. 

‘Yeah.’ He grinned, and they turned to leave. ‘All in a day’s work.’ 

He didn’t find Mary before classes started, and then he was in Divination, the only class he had with none of his friends. James would be in Ancient Runes while Peter and Remus worked their way through Arithmancy, and Sirius still felt a pang of sympathy for Peter on that deal. He’d only taken Arithmancy at NEWT level so he could copy notes for Remus around the full moon, and keep covering for him while nobody else did. It was the sort of thing he wished he’d thought of in their third year when they’d chosen their lessons, but it was too late by now. Peter’s gift to himself was to ditch Potions, and with Slughorn splitting them all up, it seemed he’d dodged a hex there. 

Normally, Divination was a great chance for him to wax lyrical, make shit up, and still waltz out the other side with a good grade, but even the jubilant success against Snape couldn’t keep him in good enough spirits to participate in class today. So it was with a gloomy air, shoulders slumped and head down that he left the classroom, trying to get to Gryffindor Tower in good time to intercept Mary. 

When he rounded the corner and walked flat into a pack of boys, for a moment he thought he’d made a serious, Slytherin-based misjudgement - then a firm, mostly friendly hand fell on his shoulder. ‘Black!’ 

‘Oh.’ Sirius blinked, and summoned an easy smile. ‘Hullo, Nathaniel.’ 

Nathaniel McKinnon and his Ravenclaw friends exchanged broad grins, and a dawning sense of realisation began to spark in Sirius’ gut. ‘Black, Black, Black. How’re you doing?’ 

He wasn’t intimidated by Nathaniel, but he did know what was coming. ‘I’m good,’ he said with false cheer, then added, because he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, ‘Marlene says hi.’ 

Wick, lounged against the wall, laughed with genuine amusement, and Nathaniel looked slightly put out. ‘You two’ve been spending lots of time together,’ Nathaniel said. 

‘Yeah. Your sister’s _great_. Also a keen, independent thinker who can fight her own battles.’ 

‘Oh, do ease off, Nate,’ Wick drawled, corners of his lips curled. ‘The fellow struck such a heinous blow against the snakes today; you can’t hold too much against him.’ 

Sirius glanced suspiciously to Wick. ‘What makes you think it was me?’ 

‘It wasn’t?’ Wick planted a hand of mock-surprise on his chest. ‘Well, then, I withdraw absolutely _all_ credit, and shall let Nate unleash his petty sibling protectiveness upon you.’ 

‘If you put it like that…’ 

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, dropping his hand from Sirius’ shoulder and subsiding. ‘Wick, you ruin my fun. But he’s right, Black; _bloody_ good work with Snape today. I know that’s not something a lot of people can say openly, but I bet they’re thinking it.’ 

‘I, of course, wouldn’t ever condone such actions,’ said Wick, voice light and whimsical. ‘Because I am a fully reformed member of Hogwarts society after my detention. I could not at all commend a fine fellow like you, Black, for doing what I absolutely can’t.’ 

Sirius grinned, relaxing at the sincere well-wishing of the Ravenclaws. The House, as a rule, was indifferent to most of the conflicts across the school, and only by Wick being so outspoken and Nathaniel being a McKinnon could the Seventh Years speak as they did. They were a dying breed, and Sirius didn’t like to think how Ravenclaw House would be in a year’s time. So he didn’t think, and instead shrugged at Wick. ‘You just need to get better at anonymising your acts.’ 

‘Oh, don’t encourage him,’ sighed Nathaniel in a good-natured manner. ‘He’ll start hammering angry posters to the walls.’ 

‘Pah. As if I could ever be so concise as to use a _poster_.’ 

‘The music was _cool_ , though,’ Sirius said firmly. ‘They didn’t know what hit them.’ 

‘ _He_ didn’t know what hit him,’ sighed Wick, gesturing at Nathaniel. ‘I’m surrounded by philistines.’ 

‘In the interests of pretending I have a moral high ground,’ groaned Nathaniel, looking Sirius in the eye, ‘obviously if you hurt my sister I will have to unleash hell on you, nasty punishments, etc, etc.’ 

‘Good work, Nate,’ drawled Wick. ‘It’s the “etc” that really strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies.’ 

‘Oh, _piss off_ , Wick.’ 

Laughing, they let Sirius on his way, and he had to hurry to the common room to be lucky enough to catch Mary coming up the stairs into the tower with Tracy and Stacey. She didn’t hear him on the stairs, didn’t hear him call her name in the swelling crowd of Gryffindors, so she started when he put a hand to her elbow to get her attention, spinning like he could be an attack. 

‘Oh - Sirius.’ She slumped, and guilt rose in his throat - guilt for startling her, guilt for taking so long to realise something was wrong, guilt because he couldn’t, still, fix her problems. 

‘Hey - got a moment?’ 

Tracy rolled her eyes, and Sirius knew she thought their breakup a sham. Stacey’s gaze was sharper, more astute, and he would have wondered how much she knew if he didn’t have bigger priorities. But he did, leading Mary down the corridor and ducking into a classroom emptied out in the rush of lessons finished for the day. 

‘What’s up?’ Mary made a show of indifference, tucking hair behind her ear. ‘James is doing a Quidditch meeting in your dorm in about half an hour -’ 

‘Mulciber,’ he blurted, and folded his arms across his chest. She flinched, and his lips twisted. ‘Sorry. But he - _again_?’ 

‘Sirius, I’m fine, they - Jack, Lily, Dory - they got me out of there. Mulciber didn’t do much.’ 

‘ _Much_?’ 

‘Sirius!’ She raised her hands. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’ 

His shoulders slumped. ‘We used to talk about everything. Aren’t we still friends, Mary?’ 

The corners of her eyes creased. ‘Of course we are.’ Her voice dropped, and she stepped closer to bring a hand to his chest. ‘You _know_ you’re still important to me, Sirius. There’s nobody I trust like you. There’s nobody who - you’re the one who sees the _real_ me, Sirius.’ 

_Ironically, that_ _’s the problem._ He swallowed, and only let himself pat her hand, because taking it would be too painful. ‘You don’t need to keep your distance for me. Mulciber making trouble, I - maybe there’s something I can do about it.’ 

‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’ Her gaze dropped. ‘ _And_ I didn’t want to talk about it.’ 

‘I don’t mean to push you -’ 

‘And I don’t know what you _could_ do, Sirius.’ That last sounded even more pained, more guilty. ‘You’re not going to play my watchdog; I don’t want you to, and you’re not _wired_ that way. We broke up, and while we’re friends, that means I live my life, and you keep on being… you.’ 

His brow knotted, and he stepped away. ‘What do you mean, keep on being _me_?’ 

‘You, with James and the others; the Marauders, messing around.’ Mary met his gaze, and seemed to see she’d made a mistake. ‘And Marlene, I mean - you and me move along different paths.’ 

He crossed his arms again. ‘So do you and Jack bloody Corrigan but he still stopped Mulciber.’ 

‘And got the _shit_ kicked out of him,’ Mary pointed out. ‘And - and it’s _different_ for us, Sirius. Muggle-borns. _You_ walk the corridors and there’s no little voice at the back of your head _assessing_ everyone you pass, weighing up danger, trying to guess if it’s safe to turn the next corner. I do. _We_ do; since the start, we learn that the Hogwarts corridors are a bloody minefield with threats to avoid, and you just don’t - your mind doesn’t work like that, Sirius. It’s not your fault. _Enjoy_ it.’ 

‘And this is why you can’t come to _me_ when bastards attack you? Because I don’t have - have _threat_ senses?’ 

She sighed and cast her gaze downward. ‘No, Sirius. It’s because you think it’s an isolated monstrosity where I should come running to you. It’s not. It’s my - our - life.’ 

Then she left, and he spent longer than he cared to admit stood in a gloomy, abandoned Charms classroom, wondering how he could care and try so much and still be left alone. And when he finally left, finally headed up to the common room, he finished off the day of frustrations and misdirections by almost walking flat into Lily Evans. And she looked pissed. 

Sirius wilted. ‘Oh, _no_ ,’ he groaned, with more venom than he usually spared for her. 

‘Oh, _yes_.’ She planted her hands on her hips, then ruined the effect by immediately grabbing his collar and dragging him across the crowded common room to where James, Remus and Peter lounged by the windows, looking varying degrees of confused and guilty. Typically, James looked the least guilty of all, even though Sirius was confident Remus and Peter had no specific crimes under their belts lately. ‘ _You_ lot!’ 

Remus stood with placating hands raised. ‘Lily, I swear we’ve not done anything. Um. Today.’ 

‘ _Really_.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘So you didn’t blow up Severus’ bag?’ 

‘No!’ exclaimed Sirius at the exact moment James shrugged and said, ‘Yes.’ 

Remus looked aghast. ‘ _James_ -’ 

‘You’re only pissed off because I’m _admitting_ it and it makes you look like a bad prefect,’ James drawled, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Why do you give a damn, Evans. Are you back to protecting him?’ 

‘Of course not! But I did want to know _why_?’ 

Sirius tugged himself free of her frustrated grip and went to stand beside James for moral support. His own, not James’, because James gave a dismissive toss of the head. ‘Didn’t you _hear_ , Evans - champion of the downtrodden, or whatever you fancy yourself lately - how he threw Dixon into a wall?’ 

Her lips pursed. ‘Of course I heard. He threw Dixon into a wall, so you… did the exact same sort of thing you used to torment him with when he’d done nothing at all? Is that your idea of payback? Petty pranks which send exactly no sort of message to anyone?’ 

‘I wasn’t going for a _message_ ,’ James admitted. ‘I was going for grease. It’s sort of a theme with Severus. You see, it’s because he’s greasy -’ 

Remus covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh my God.’ 

‘What’s it to you _anyway_ , Evans?’ James pressed on. ‘You don’t seem about to hit me with your prefectly power.’ 

‘No.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘No consequences for James Potter. Never any consequences for James Potter.’ 

‘I don’t -’ 

‘You’re boy princes here, you know that?’ While she sounded less venomous, shoulders slumping, she was no less angry. ‘Wick makes a move against the school after Abernathy brushes over Mulciber’s attack, and he gets detention - from _McGonagall_ , no less. You guys indirectly goo Snape for one petty offence in a string of petty offences, and nothing _happens_ to you.’ 

‘I guess,’ said Sirius, ‘we’re just better at not being caught.’ 

‘And you’re calling it a petty offence,’ said James. ‘It’s not so petty to Dixon -’ 

‘ _You_ don’t care about Dixon!’ exclaimed Lily. ‘It’s just an _excuse_ to go for Snape! If it were about Dixon, you’d _tell_ him it was about Dixon, you’d confront him. This was one of your typical exercises in power - hurt him publicly, when he knows it’s you, _everyone_ knows it’s you, but nobody can prove it or do anything.’ 

‘So, what, I should hit him and every other Slytherin arsehole to their face? Dodge teachers and fight them down a corridor?’ James rolled his eyes. 

But then Lily said, ‘Yes,’ very flatly, and all four of them stopped and gawped. ‘There’s a reason I called you _princes_. And you most of all, Potter. You get how the school watches you? Looks _up_ to you? How there are only so many egomaniac bastards who can walk into a room and have everyone listen to them, and you’re one of them -’ 

‘To be fair, Evans, lately so are _you_ -’ 

‘And you say you hate the Slytherins and the pure-blood movement but you do absolutely _nothing_ to fight it! _That_ _’s_ what pisses me off so much about you!’ She took an angry step forward, and James actually leaned back - more by the wave of anger than by her unimposing size. ‘You’ve got the support of people and you’ve got the skills, you could set an example but all you do is _screw around_! You only fight Slytherins you don’t _personally_ like - you’ve done _nothing_ against Randal Mulciber because he mostly ignores you, too - and then when people who _do_ step up get thrown in detention or get the _hell_ kicked out of them while the school covers it up, you _wonder_ why I’m angry?’ 

James was staring, gobsmacked, so Sirius considered it his duty to slither them out of all responsibility for this one, even if Lily’s words were thudding into the echoes of Mary’s. ‘It’s not our job to champion the bloody school, Evans -’ 

‘Oh, don’t worry, Black, I never assume it’s _your_ job to care about anything but your own fun,’ she sneered with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘You try to pretend to be different to all the other rich pure-bloods, but you still act like you’re cock of the roost, still treat people like _things_ to amuse you. How much are you going to jerk around Marlene - who’s sweet and clever and far too good for you - before you break her heart, because God knows you don’t like her half as much as she likes you, and you’re a bloody coward?’ 

Remus made an awkward noise. ‘Lily, please.’ 

‘Christ, Remus, I heard your defence of them last week. I don’t need it again. When are you going to find your balls and follow your convictions without worrying if it’s going to make these three not like you?’ Then she waved a hand past Remus, at Peter. ‘And when are _you_ going to stop living in the shadow of people using you just for petty amusement?’ Fists on her hips, she stepped back to glare at all four Marauders, each of them by now too stunned to summon a retort. ‘Boy princes. You could use how much McGonagall - how much the _school_ \- loves you, use all your wasted talent, and make a damned difference. But God knows your stupid, petty fun and rivalries come first.’ She stormed off through the common room, and only then did Sirius realise most of the gathered students had been pretending to not stare at the yelling match. Immediately did throats clear, heads turn away, and nobody looked at Lily as she stomped out. 

The first one to speak was Peter, brow furrowing. ‘Fuck did _I_ do?’ 

Sirius ground his teeth together. ‘Crazy bitch.’ 

‘Please, Sirius, don’t call her that,’ said Remus, voice pained. 

‘Well, she is! Nobody asked her what she thought! We’re not Hogwarts’ personal enforcers! She wants an anti-Slytherin league, she can bloody start it herself! I don’t -’ 

‘I’ve got a Quidditch meeting,’ James blurted, brow knotted as he left for the dormitory. 

Another silence fell at that, silence where Remus sat carefully back on the sofa, and Sirius glared at the point where Lily had disappeared. It took him a while before he turned to Peter, waving a hand. ‘She’s wrong, you know.’ 

His lips curled. ‘I know. You use me for very _important_ amusement.’ 

But he was being genuine, not sardonic, and Sirius sat across from them with the tension in his gut loosening. He looked at Remus. ‘She’s wrong about you, too.’ 

He was bent over his papers again, writing up notes from Arithmancy in long-hand. He always did it immediately after lessons, always so fastidious in a way Sirius could never be bothered to be. But then, Sirius didn’t have to miss several days’ lessons a month. Remus did not look up as he said, ‘She’s not.’ 

Sirius tried to grin. ‘You’ve got _plenty_ of balls -’ 

‘You three pull stuff which should get you in detention right under my nose _all the time_. Merlin, I _participate_ half the time.’ He still sounded tired, not angry. 

Sirius couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so they stayed there for the next hour, sat in silence broken only by Remus leaning over to give Peter corrections and tips with his notes. That was their deal, he noticed; Peter kept Remus up to date on lessons missed around the full moon, and Remus helped Peter. Once, Peter would have plaintively asked Remus to just do the work for him. Not this year. 

When he looked up at last, it was to see most of the common room filtering out. ‘Oh,’ he said, toneless for a moment. ‘Dinner. I’ll go get James and break up the meeting; they must have lost track of time. Catch me down there?’ 

They murmured assent and he stood and headed for the dormitory. Only halfway up the stairs could he hear the voices, the laughing, and not for the first time he felt a soft pang at how Quidditch was something which brought James so much joy and satisfaction but which he couldn’t share. It was the only thing they _didn_ _’t_ share. 

_Except for what we_ _’re_ really _thinking, I guess._ But he didn’t linger on that, pushing the door open to find the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat on the floor in his dorm, swigging from glasses or bottles. James stood in the centre of the circle and threw his arms out with glee at the sight of him. ‘Sirius!’ 

‘You’re drinking?’ Sirius gawped. ‘ _Without_ me?’ 

Mary sat giggling on the floor, and elbowed Shacklebolt, the third Chaser, in the ribs. ‘He’s _so sad_ without James,’ she hissed not-at-all-quietly. ‘So _needy_!’ 

But she said it with such glee that he couldn’t be irritated at her, and threw a lopsided smile. ‘ _Your_ spirits went up with spirits, didn’t they.’ 

She lifted a finger to her lips. ‘ _Shhh_. James has got _plans_.’ 

‘Plans?’ 

James swaggered over to Sirius, threw an arm over his shoulder, and pressed a fresh bottle of butterbeer into his hand. That was all the apology he needed. ‘It’s only right _you_ hear first, Sirius. Because I know I always _speak_ of success, and how I’m going to be a better Captain than Podmore, but now’s time.’ He stabbed his finger down. ‘This is it! My pledge! My promise! We are going to _win_ the Cup. Because we are going to _beat_ Slytherin - show them they aren’t all that - show them this team they’d mostly _refuse_ to fly with - is worth _fifty_ of them!’ 

Seeker Dirk Cresswell waved his fist in the air, bellowing, ‘ _Oggy oggy oggy!_ ’ 

‘ _Oi oi oi!_ _’_ came the yelled reply from the Gryffindors. 

Mary giggled some more, and waved her hand in the air next. ‘ _Potty Potty Potty_!’ 

‘ _Oi oi oi!_ _’_  
  
Getting them all to dinner was one of the hardest things Sirius had done all year. He had to set Shacklebolt - still a fussy prefect at the end of the day, and mostly sober - to keep Mary upright, and then usher the rest down to the Great Hall without them breaking into any more chanting. Beaters Miller and Booth almost wandered down the wrong corridor, and Sirius had a better understanding of why his animagus form was a dog after his frantic herding of them all to the point they were sat down and eating with little of the rest of the school any the wiser. McGonagall would do her nut if she found her Quidditch team drunk, and anyone who wished them ill - anyone from any other House with Quidditch aspirations - would be quick to tell her. 

Once they had some food in them, they’d be okay. 

So he, of course, kept shovelling food onto James’ plate. ‘You didn’t do this because of Evans, did you?’ he asked at last, once James had some Yorkshire pud in him to soak up the Firewhiskey. ‘She didn’t get to you?’ 

James, bleary-eyed as he started to sober up, took a while to reply. Probably because he was eating, but he also took advantage of the moment to glance down the table to where Lily sat, ducking peas catapulted at her on a spoon by Dory in retaliation for some slight, laughing like she hadn’t just ripped them to shreds. ‘No,’ he said at length, voice thick. ‘No, she’s not why I’m doing this.’ Knowing James very well did not help Sirius much in that moment, because while he knew he hadn’t been outright lied to, he certainly didn’t have the whole truth. But then James pressed on. ‘And don’t let her get to you _either_ , Pads. You’re a good guy. Nobody asked you to fix the world. And I know if you weren’t really interested in Marlene, you’d have ditched her already.’ 

Sirius cast a brief, furtive glance to the Ravenclaw table. Marlene had taken to sitting with her brother and his crowd lately, if only to not be left completely alone with her eviction from Baddock and the beating heart of Ravenclaw girl politics. ‘Yeah,’ he muttered into his mashed potato. ‘I would have.’ 

After his needlessly long hunt for Mary, he cut to the chase on his next pursuit, and grabbed Marlene as all the houses filed out from dinner. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he hissed as he led her down a corridor and she, looking worried, followed. 

He’d inadvertently led them into the same walk-in storage closet as before, he realised once he closed the door behind them and brought the sconce to flickering life, and then they were close in confined quarters. Close enough so he could see the concerned furrow of her brow, the apprehensive tension of her shoulders, and he knew she thought she’d figured what was coming. 

He took her hands. ‘I know I’ve not been around as much as I should have been. Worrying about my friends. Getting into NEWTs.’ 

Marlene bit her lip. ‘I know you’ve got a lot on your plate,’ she said after a moment with the slightest quaver. ‘I mean, of course we both do - but you’ve got _more_ , so of course it’s going to be hard for you to keep up with everything and, well, NEWTs are important and so are your friends so I don’t begrudge you spending time elsewhere. It’s okay.’ 

‘It’s not. Because I know you worry, too. I don’t have the _best_ history with girls -’ 

‘Well, I know you and Mary were together for over six months so you _can_ do serious, and so of _course_ you’re going to be worried when something’s gone wrong with her, but then, I mean, I know you two had a lot more in common than _we_ have -’ 

‘ _Marls_.’ He lifted a hand to her chin, tilted her face up so he could look her in the eye, and smiled. ‘You’ve not been wrong to worry. I didn’t chase you at the party looking for another relationship. But that was almost a month ago now, and, hey, here we are.’ 

Her eyelashes flickered, and she looked not in the slightest reassured. ‘Here we are. But, yes, I mean, that’s sort of the worry, because - we don’t really know each other, yet, still -’ 

‘We know all we need to. You’re Marlene McKinnon, smart and beautiful.’ His fingers at her chin tilted her face up that last, necessary half-inch, and he could almost feel her surprise under his fingertips, feel how unused she was to _anyone_ talking to her like this. ‘And I’m Sirius Black. Charming, irreverent - and not going anywhere.’ 

_And how much are you going to jerk her around, Black_ , said the voice in his head sounding uncomfortably like Evans, echoing all she’d asked before, even as he leaned down to kiss Marlene, _before you break her heart?_


	14. Can't Hide

  
**Can** **’t Hide**

_Yeah, you've got that something_  
 _I think you'll understand_  
 _When I'll say that something._  
 _-_ _‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand,’ The Beatles (1964)_

 

‘Hogsmeade countdown commencing,’ Dory said in a needlessly deep voice as she sat down with Lily at breakfast. _‘Five days_.’ 

‘You’re going to be like this all week, aren’t you.’ Lily looked up from buttering toast with a frown. 

‘Of course not. Tomorrow I’m going to be, like, “ _Four days_ ”.’ 

That became Lily’s week in a nutshell. Classes continued, and the world didn’t come to a halt just because of enormous injustices. Her explosion in the Gryffindor common room had done her few favours, though random outbursts of indignity on her part weren’t _that_ unusual. Black and Pettigrew oozed more quiet resentment than usual, but Remus seemed so legitimately hurt, nearly silent through all their prefect patrols, that by Tuesday night she had to say something while they wandered the corridors. 

‘If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not getting one,’ she told him, arch irritation punctuated by their echoing footsteps down hallowed Hogwarts halls. 

He’d been walking with slumped shoulders, hands in his pockets, and his head snapped up at that. ‘Huh? What?’ 

‘For the other night. I meant what I said.’ 

‘Oh.’ Remus ran a hand through his hair. ‘No, I… suppose you weren’t wrong.’ 

‘That’s _not_ why you’ve gone all mopey?’ 

‘It _bothered_ me, I can’t lie. There are places I’d rather have strips torn off me than the middle of the Common Room. But it’s…’ His voice trailed off, and he looked down the corridor. ‘I guess I’m realising it’s all only going to get harder from now.’ 

‘Welcome to my world,’ Lily muttered. ‘At least you don’t _have_ to take a stand. Nobody’s going to try to kill you for what you are.’ 

‘No,’ said Remus, oddly muted. ‘I couldn’t imagine what it’s like, having that looming over you.’ 

But at least he stopped brooding after that. He wasn’t the only one to go back to normal: Potter, for his part, seemed completely unaffected. Quidditch fervour was ramping up, the match against Slytherin only weeks away. 

‘He’s a bloody _slave driver_ ,’ Mary moaned on Wednesday night as she slunk into the dorm, soaking wet in her kit. ‘It’s _pissing down_ out there and he _still_ wants us practicing.’ 

‘You must be freezing!’ Dory almost squawked, hurrying over to her with a towel. ‘Is he insane?’ 

‘No,’ Mary sighed, drying her hair before she stripped out of sodden leathers. ‘We need it if we’re going to beat Slytherin.’ 

‘He still won’t let you play Seeker?’ 

‘He doesn’t want to split up the Chaser trio. And we _are_ damn good, I’m just not sure _Dirk_ _’s_ good enough. And he’s getting sloppy in practice, keeps making mistakes and James just _yells_ at him…’ Mary shook her head. ‘It’s a lot of pressure.’ 

‘Who’s lit this fire under Potter’s arse?’ Lily, sat on her bed, complained. 

Mary bit her lip in that way she did when she didn’t want to be mean. ‘Lily… you did yell at him in public for not doing anything -’ 

‘I didn’t mean _win Quidditch_ -’ 

‘Me, Dirk, Miller, _and_ Kendricks are all Muggle-born. More Muggle-borns than on any other team. Have you listened to him rant about how he’s going to win the match?’ The corners of Mary’s eyes crinkled. ‘He’s going to beat the pure-blood Slytherin team with us. _For_ us. It’s not just about the game any more. It’s about making a point.’ 

Lily did listen a bit more, after that. She’d assumed Potter’s sudden vim and vigour of recent weeks was just about Quidditch fever, but once she paid attention, she did have to admit to a change. Even if it _was_ all about the game. He wasn’t facing down Randal Mulciber for attacking Mary, but he _was_ jumping onto tables in the middle of the common room after practice to rant to the whole House. The next day - because there was another practice, because Mary was right in calling him a slave driver - she actually stopped writing up her Potions notes long enough to listen. 

‘Three and a half weeks until the match!’ James Potter crowed, again soaking wet as he stretched out his arms like the gathered Gryffindors were cheering, adoring fans. ‘And I _promise_ you all, when we win, _every person in here_ gets a bottle of butterbeer! On me!’ Nobody asked, “what if we lose?” which was the first thing on Lily’s mind. Slytherin had taken the Cup last season, and not much had changed in the balance of power that she could see. But everyone preferred to cheer and clap, and there were some matters where she wasn’t going to go against popular opinion. 

‘ _One day_ ,’ said Dory the next morning at breakfast. 

‘Would you _calm down_?’ 

‘I’m _excited_. I like _fun_ , Red; you remember _fun_ , between all your revision and your note-taking? It’s October! We don’t sit our NEWT finals for almost _two years_ -’ 

‘And I want to do well.’ But Lily did subside with a sigh. ‘Fine. Where do you want to go tomorrow?’ 

Dory’s eyes lit up. ‘ _Everywhere_.’ 

‘Okay. Time’s going to be an issue.’ 

‘You’re a real wet blanket, you know that? You’re not even excited by _Quidditch_ -’ 

‘You’re right, I’m not. Even if everyone else is. Even if James Potter has suddenly turned mad and _how_ is that my fault?’ 

Dory blinked at the sudden change of pace in the conversation. ‘You mean, you yell at him loudly and in public and you wonder when that causes a reaction?’ 

‘Except normally I just call him a venomous toe-rag and he ignores me.’ 

‘I suppose.’ Dory chewed on her lip. ‘Maybe it’s because in the past you’ve been right, and this time you were just an obnoxious bitch?’ 

Lily narrowed her eyes. ‘If you have something to say, you could say it. Instead of phrasing it like a rhetorical question.’ 

‘Can I get it in writing that you _asked_ me to be honest? And that’s not rhetorical. I’d kind of like an Unbreakable Vow that you won’t bite my head off for speaking my mind _as asked_.’ 

‘I’m not _that_ bad -’ 

Then Dory was laughing, hard enough she had to clutch her gut and loud enough people were staring. ‘Oh, you’re hilarious, Red.’ 

‘ _Hey_ -’ 

‘Lily!’ Dory was smiling as she straightened, but it was a tense sort of smile, and she threw her hands in the air in exasperation. ‘You stalked up to them in the middle of the common room and ripped them all new ones for _picking on Snape_. Who _deserved_ it.’ 

‘They didn’t do it because he deserved it, they did it because they don’t _like_ him.’ She had to speak in a low hiss so everyone who was still staring after Dory’s laughter didn’t eavesdrop. 

‘Who cares why? And even _if_ that’s true, even _if_ it matters, was it really necessary to pick on Remus for that? Peter? To dick on Sirius about _Marlene_?’ 

‘I’m _right_ -’ 

‘Nobody cares how right you are if you’re going to wield being right like a weapon. You weren’t trying to help. You were trying to _hurt them_. Whatever reason, it was a bitch move. Seriously uncool.’ 

Lily stared at her for a long moment, expecting a sudden joke, an off-hand comment to take the sting away, and just got the warm dark eyes of Dorcas Meadowes for once turned calm and cold. Her breath caught in her throat. ‘I just - they piss me off so badly -’ _Because they waste their chances. Because they could do so much and instead they_ _’re just petty. Because if I had all their privilege I could have -_ ‘And I didn’t like feeling helpless after Mulciber.’ It wasn’t untrue. It just wasn’t the whole truth. 

Dory’s gaze did soften. ‘I change exactly nothing I just said. But there’s hope for your epic tale of redemption from bitchery to just fiery redheaded snark. And as your first step on this long road, I am taking your bacon.’ 

‘Hey -’ 

‘You have to give it up, it’s _penance bacon_ -’ 

They were still fighting over Lily’s plate, ignoring the platters of fresh bacon, when Jack slid onto the bench next to Dory. ‘What the hell is going on?’ He was quiet, tense, still apprehensive about sitting with them at the Gryffindor table. Abernathy glowered but nobody had found a rule forbidding this mingling, and McGonagall was far less likely to send someone packing on petty principle. 

‘Red needs to atone for her sins by giving me bacon. Ah- _ha_!’ Dory’s eyes brightened with triumph as she scooped the streaks directly off the plate. 

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘I surely went to a very different church.’ 

‘Then join me in saving her soul,’ Dory hissed, ‘and take penance bacon for yourself.’ 

He smirked. ‘It’s Friday. I might be a wizard, but I didn’t suddenly go and become _Protestant_.’ 

Lily gave a wry smile. Her own loose upbringing within the Anglican church had turned strained enough with the discovery of magic. ‘Horror of horrors.’ Shame was easier to swallow when Dory was messing around, and Jack of all people wouldn’t judge her for taking a bite out of the Marauders. So Lily let Dory snatch away her prize and, eager to move the conversation on, rummaged in her robes. ‘I got Dad’s letter, he included all the results.’ 

Jack’s eyes lit up. ‘Don’t screw around, woman. Hit me.’ 

Trying to not bounce, Lily unfolded the paper, with her father’s familiar scratchy handwriting, its looped G’s. She cleared her throat and adopted the deep, measured voice of a BBC presenter. ‘ _Nottingham Forest six, Sheffield United_ _… one._ ’ 

‘ _Six?_ Fucking hell.’ Jack ran a hand through his hair. ‘Maybe Clough does know what he’s doing for you lot after all. But, come on, time for the bad news.’ 

She wrinkled her nose, but tried to keep up the voice. ‘ _Oldham Athletic two, Millwall_ _… one_.’ 

‘Piss!’ 

Dory leaned forwards with a furrowed brow. ‘Are you two speaking London or something?’ 

‘We’re speaking _proper_ sports. Not one with four balls played in the air.’ Lily tucked the letter away. ‘Chelsea are still top of the league, of course, by _four_ points -’ 

‘Nobody’s catching up with them; it’s a scrap for second place right now.’ 

‘Which you might _win_ , you’re only a point behind Blackpool -’ 

‘ _And_ Oldham, now! You guys have got to be, what, ninth?’ 

‘Eighth, goal difference, but one win and we get ahead of Wolverhampton -’ 

‘I swear it’s like you two are from Mars, sometimes,’ sighed Dory. 

Lily clicked her tongue. ‘This might be an impertinent question -’ 

‘And usually that’s my domain -’ 

‘But I always assumed you were Muggle-born, too, Dory.’ 

Dory chomped on bacon thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know what you’d call me,’ she admitted. ‘Both my parents were Muggle-born wizards. So apparently I know music but I don’t know football. But I sure as hell aren’t even half-blood.’ 

‘You know,’ mused Lily, ‘that’s got to happen a lot. I can’t really imagine marrying a pure-blood; our lives would be so _wholly_ different, how would we find common ground?’ 

‘And speaking of breeding pedigrees,’ Dory muttered, and Lily’s head whipped around just as Wick arrived at the table. 

He stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, wavy hair messier than usual, like he’d fussed over it too long. ‘Good morning,’ he managed to say, after clearing his throat altogether too much. 

Dory rested her chin on her hand and fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Good _morning_ , Wick.’ 

He gave her an anxious, pained look, then turned his gaze on Lily. ‘I was wondering if I could have a word.’ 

‘Why?’ Dory blurted. ‘Is it _scandalous_? I have to protect her honour, you - _erk_ -’ 

‘My hand slipped,’ Lily said apologetically as she stood. She had, in fact, shoved Dory bodily off the bench and wasn’t sorry in the slightest, but she didn’t look back as she followed Wick out the Great Hall, into the hustle and bustle of the corridor before morning classes. ‘I’m sorry about her.’ 

‘Don’t be. She’s your friend. And, ah, positively charming.’ Wick scratched his ear, and she wondered if that was his liar’s tell, but then he snatched his hand down. ‘I had wondered if you would like to accompany me. At Hogsmeade. Tomorrow.’ 

It was strange how something could be unsurprising when she tried to be logical, and still set her insides fluttering wildly. ‘I, uh -’ 

‘I mean the two of us. Just the two of us, that is.’ Wick had gone a peculiar shade of pink. ‘I thought we could get some drinks. Or maybe try Winklemeyer’s Teashop; I know it’s a little twee and we certainly don’t _have_ to if you’d rather just go to the Three Broomsticks or even spend the day with Meadowes and Corrigan and -’ 

‘I’d like that,’ Lily blurted, then realised she’d interrupted him at an awfully unclear moment, and surged forward. ‘Drinks, I mean. With you. Not them. _Never_ them.’ 

Her protestations were excessive, but it still broke the spell, and he gave a broad, relieved smile that was altogether less awkward. ‘I suppose we can decide _where_ we want to go tomorrow. See what mood we’re in when we get to town.’ His voice was a lot more normal, his cheeks returning to their usual colour. 

_Is it_ supposed _to be this awkward?_ Lily wondered. Odder, she wasn’t sure she disliked it. ‘That’d be nice,’ she said, because that sounded like a more normal thing to say. ‘I’ll, um, meet you here after breakfast? We can walk down together?’ 

His smile widened. ‘A _peerless_ plan,’ he proclaimed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Wick didn’t seem sure what to do next, giving her a little nod that was almost a formal bow, before hurrying off down the corridor. Following him with her eyes, Lily spotted Nathaniel and the other Ravenclaw Seventh Year boys stood at the staircase down the way, and watched them burst into laughter and back-slaps as Wick arrived. She returned to the Great Hall, bracing herself for something probably just as amused but likely less supportive. 

‘So,’ she said as she sat back down across from Jack and Dory. ‘You two will have to amuse yourselves without me tomorrow.’ 

Dory frowned. ‘Are you kidding? I was going to stalk you.’ 

Lily’s eyes narrowed. ‘You will _not_ -’ 

‘It’s fine,’ said Jack. ‘We’ll go to the pub, I’ll get her shitfaced, she’ll forget all about you two.’ 

‘Ooh,’ said Dory, ‘I like that plan more. And you can have adventures with Sir Snoggable.’ 

‘Is that his new nickname?’ 

‘Consider it my badge of approval.’ 

Jack gave his tight smirk that was so often taken for malicious. ‘Wick’s a right ponce. But he’s alright.’ 

That was practically gushing praise coming from Jack Corrigan, and Lily felt heat rising to her cheeks anew, so she just mumbled something incoherent and dug back into her cooling breakfast. Even if the pleasant fluttering in her insides meant she wasn’t sure she’d eat more than a few bites.

§ 

Fletch could hear Sirius talking before he rounded the corner. ‘It’ll be great,’ he was gushing, arm around McKinnon’s shoulder as they, Potter and Lupin wandered up out of Potions. ‘We’ll go to the tea house, they did these great little iced slices last year -’ When he shut up abruptly, Fletch wondered if he’d spotted her and had an attack of guilt or something. But his hesitation was more awkward, and she realised he was basing his knowledge of Winklemeyer’s Teashop on past dates with other girls. Even Sirius Black knew talking about it wasn’t the most judicious move in the world.

To be kind, she moved to intercept the foursome. ‘Hey guys. Potions still as riveting as ever?’ 

Sirius grinned. ‘Remus screwed up.’ 

Lupin’s ears went pink. ‘The instructions were deliberately misleading -’ 

‘Didn’t get the chance to say, Fletch,’ Potter interrupted. ‘Great spread on Nathaniel’s party. Great _drinks_ , too.’ 

Had the Marauders been less exclusive - insular - Fletch suspected they would have done more business in past years. ‘So long as a good time was had by all.’ She winked at Marlene. ‘Your brother’s a hell of a customer.’ 

‘I just try to make sure nobody throws up on any expensive carpets,’ said Marlene, a little flustered. ‘I would have preferred fewer fist-fights, too, but…’ 

‘Ah, Carrow deserved it,’ said Sirius. 

‘Speaking of parties.’ Potter rummaged in his robes and pulled out a folded piece of paper. ‘I was wondering if you could sort me out something.’ 

‘You’ve caught me at the right time,’ said Fletch. ‘Hogsmeade’s great for picking things up.’ 

‘And _I_ _’m_ going to be searched immediately after a trip. _You_ , though…’ 

‘Oh, I’ll be searched.’ She grinned, taking the paper. ‘I’ll just get past them. I can sort this. It’s a lot, though.’ 

‘Quidditch celebrations.’ Potter shrugged. ‘Grab me tomorrow if you need me to cover some upfront costs.’ 

‘I’ll get you numbers. But I was wondering if McKinnon could let me borrow Sirius. Divination stuff, and nobody’s going to be thinking about homework this weekend.’ 

McKinnon gave a nose-crinkling sort of smile which made her cute in a way which shed some light on what had drawn someone like Sirius to her, while Potter made a good-natured mockery of Divination’s academic credentials. Sirius flipped them off before following Fletch into the nearby stairwell, and at once his smile turned mischievous. ‘This is _not_ about Divination, is it.’ 

‘Of bloody course not. I don’t need your help to bullshit.’ She mimicked his grin without thinking. ‘How’s Potter’s Quidditch campaign been going?’ 

Sirius blew his fringe out of his eyes. ‘I think he’s actually snapped this time. But he seems happy. Out of his funk.’ She caught his eye, and he sighed and pulled papers out of his pocket. ‘Alright, alright. I took notes on his tactical plans. You realise I had to listen to his ranting?’ 

‘Think of the ten percent,’ she told him, accepting his notes. ‘And all you can get with it.’ 

‘James wants the Beaters ready to focus on Mulciber the Lesser, disrupt any Snitch hunt, and otherwise protect Kendricks.’ 

‘New Keeper’s the unknown factor, then? He’s given up on Cresswell being able to beat Graham Mulciber?’ 

‘If he’d given up, he’d not get the Beaters involved with the Seekers. No, he thinks Cresswell can do it, given a fighting change. But he’s also got enough faith in him, Mary and Kingsley that they can handle Bludgers from the Slytherins without Miller and Booth protecting them.’ 

_Arrogant. Risky._ But then, Beaters Wilkes and Rosier were Slytherin team’s weakness, just as Seeker Cresswell and the untested Keeper Kendricks were Gryffindor’s. ‘If Miller and Booth _can_ dominate the Bludgers, that turns it more into a contest of Chasers.’ 

‘Which James is convinced, of course, he can win,’ said Sirius. ‘What do you think?’ 

_I think Avery is going to pay well_. ‘It’ll even out the odds. Slytherin are still the favourites -’ 

‘Are you serious -’ 

‘No, that’s you.’ She gave an airy, appeasing smile. ‘Oh, come on, everyone loves an underdog story. The more Gryffindor gets played down, the more Potter’s the amazing hero who rescued the team from the fires of Podmore’s incompetence.’ 

‘Okay. I do like that.’ Sirius stepped back, giving her a thumbs up. ‘This is going to be great.’ 

She let him leave, and lingered in the dim stairwell, alone to better swallow her guilt. Its taste was bitter in her throat, and even imagining the luxuries all Avery’s wealth would bring could not banish it fully. So she clutched Sirius’ note in her pocket, pledged to copy it in her own hand so nobody would guess his inadvertent betrayal, and headed for lunch. She only reached the doors to the Great Hall before there was another voice calling her name, one she wasn’t used to hearing address her, and then Lily Evans was sweeping her down to a secluded patch of corridor. 

‘Fletch, I need your help.’ 

‘Oh,’ said Fletch, blinking. ‘It’s that time, is it? Look, Sluggy hasn’t changed his NEWT exam potions in twenty years -’ 

‘I’m not trying to cheat - I don’t _need_ to cheat - you know Sluggy’s _exam_ questions?’ Evans froze and sputtered, obviously not sure which of these prospects was more horrifying. 

Fletch sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, _breathe_ , Evans. What can I do you for?’ 

‘Not _cheating_ ,’ came the hot reply. ‘Nothing nefarious like that. I simply wanted some information.’ 

‘Cheat sheets are information. But if you’re not the sort for those, what _are_ you the sort for, Evans?’ Fletch cocked her head. ‘Information on people? Curious about your two new besties? Owe Mulciber or the Carrows some payback? Or were you sniffing up dirt on Wick, trying to find out if he’s as squeaky clean as he seems?’ 

‘No!’ Evans snapped - and wilted. ‘At least - that is - I don’t want Wick’s _secrets_ …’ 

Fletch had to fight the smug, self-satisfied smirk. It was unprofessional for her to bait Evans, but the other girl had spent the past five years ignoring or looking down on her; a little teasing now she’d come crawling was due. But if she pushed it too hard, Fletch knew Evans would cut and run, so she let her voice go soothing, sympathetic. ‘You just want to be sure about a guy. I can understand that.’ 

‘It’s not even _that_ ,’ said Evans, and looked frantically up and down the quiet corridor as if intrusions might manifest and see her sneaky shame. ‘I just want - I only want gossip. Public area sort of information. Things anyone might know, except I never paid attention to him and neither did Dory or Jack, and I could ask Marlene but he’s friends with her brother…’ 

‘Evans, I can’t help you if you’re so busy justifying yourself you can’t give me a question.’ 

She started to blush. ‘I just want to know if he’s had a girlfriend before.’ 

‘Normally, answers have costs,’ said Fletch. ‘But I’ll give you a “not really” for free, and we can negotiate the follow-ups.’ 

Evans made a face. ‘Do you care about anything _but_ money?’ 

‘Sure. I care about what I can buy with money.’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fletch, this is a conversation.’ 

‘And we’re not _friends_ , Evans; you came to me because I know things, not because you like me.’ 

‘ _Fine_.’ Evans stuck her hands on her hips. ‘Three sickles.’ 

‘That’s -’ 

‘The price of something more substantial than Butterbeer tomorrow at the Hog’s Head. You do me a favour. I buy you a drink.’ 

_Maybe she_ does _know how to play_. ‘Wick’s first snog was Christmas of his fifth year, an attack under the mistletoe by Gulpidge, Hufflepuff,’ Fletch relayed automatically. ‘I don’t think her intentions were more meaningful than his; nothing ever came of it. He spent the last two years flirting _outrageously_ with Annabelle Fawley, Ravenclaw, who finished school this summer. Both of them held back from it becoming more serious because of how it might be viewed by her family and family friends.’ And, because it never hurt to leave a client wanting a little more, she added, ‘I don’t know if they’re still in touch.’ 

Evans was chewing her lip. ‘This was bad,’ she mumbled. ‘And creepy of me.’ 

_Give me my three sickles._ But a happy customer was a repeat customer. ‘Like you said, this is the equivalent of me doing you a favour and getting a drink out of it. This _is_ just gossip; you’re not the first girl to ask around before a date.’ 

‘How did you know -’ 

‘I have my ways,’ Fletch lied. It wasn’t a big guess, with Hogsmeade looming. ‘Imagine I had some horrid revelation he was a serial cheater? You’d be glad you asked.’ 

‘I suppose so. Oh.’ Evans paused, then rummaged in her pockets and fished out three sickles. ‘Thanks.’ 

‘Do you want me to dig up more?’ 

‘No!’ 

‘I could see what he’s got to say to Nathaniel; tonight _and_ tomorrow after the date -’ 

‘No!’ It wasn’t real temptation, Fletch could see, but it was enough to wind her up, and, tossing her hands in the air, Evans turned away. ‘ _Thank_ you!’ 

Fletch grinned to herself as she pocketed the sickles, and hesitated. ‘Evans?’ The other girl was halfway down the corridor, and faltered as if apprehensive of a trap. ‘You go out with someone like Wick, you paint a big target on yourself. He’s protected by Nathaniel McKinnon. You’re not.’ 

Evans huffed. ‘I’ve _already_ got a target on myself. I might as well have company.’ 

The advice was free, Fletch told herself as she was left alone in the corridor. It demonstrated good faith and might stop Evans from being such a snob she’d hesitate to come back for future deals. And Fletch told herself this over and over through lunch, through afternoon lessons, all the way back through the corridor. It wasn’t that she _cared_ , of course. Evans looked at her like shit the same as everyone else, thinking herself so hard done by but clinging to pride that at least she didn’t deign to _take_ something from this crapsack world. 

And yet Fletch couldn’t shake all she’d heard of Randal Mulciber on the prowl again, of the way Saul Avery talked about things. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. Changed with time, changed with Corrigan’s clash, changed with Wick’s petty rebellion, like the winding of the crank. Fletch didn’t want to see who’d be hit when everything came unravelled, but for a long time she’d settled for it simply not being her or her friends. She was left with the unsettling impression those who’d face the firing squad would be discovered soon, and it was harder when she could make out faces in the gloomy future. 

It was just her and Cecil waiting in the Ravenclaw Common Room after classes, Hargreaves not back yet. Cecil was babbling on about something or other from Arithmancy she couldn’t possibly care about, but she knew he didn’t need her to _listen_. He just liked a sounding board, liked to talk out loud so he could see if numbers and equations made more sense once he could hear them for himself. It was easier, he explained bashfully whenever challenged, to think outside of your own head. For once Fletch could understand him, because she was trying to ignore him _and_ her own mind so she could eavesdrop on Nathaniel McKinnon and his friends, sat on the sofa behind them. 

‘…would have thought you’d be angrier, Wick. The man’s a wretched bigot! Did you know he’s a complete _washout_ from the Ministry?’ 

‘You astonish me, Nate. I thought a man like Professor Drake would keep perfectly impeccable credentials.’ 

‘Except he parades himself as a veteran of the Ministry legislation, when all he’s doing is making the Ministry _look_ bad with his backward -’ 

Fletch could have throttled Dorothy Baddock for stopping as she waltzed past, tittering as she overhead Nathaniel. ‘You mean making your _father_ look bad, Nate, surely? Oh, my mistake, the _Prophet_ was talking all about the botched talks with Yugoslavia. _They_ made him look bad all by himself!’ 

From the hubbub behind her, Fletch gathered that Baddock left before Nathaniel could summon a retort, and then Wick was talking in a calm, soothing voice. ‘Easy, old chap, she’s just trying to get a rise out of you. It’s all to hurt Marlene, you know; nothing any less petty than that. The stupid girl doesn’t know half the school can’t _stand_ her.’ 

Wick wasn’t wrong, Fletch thought. Dorothy Baddock had been harmlessly insipid in previous years, but the apparent ‘betrayal’ by Marlene had triggered something of a super-villain meltdown. Through clumsy, cruel comments flung about as if they gave her power, there was hardly a person - especially the girls - in school who had escaped her sharp tongue lashing out for no good reason. And now she’d earned Fletch’s ire, interrupting Nathaniel’s ranting about Professor Drake and letting the conversation move on to far less exciting Transfiguration homework. 

‘Where’ve _you_ been?’ Fletch demanded when Hargreaves finally emerged in the common room a half hour later. 

Hargreaves, looking worn and tired, collapsed onto the sofa next to Cecil and stuck two fingers up at Fletch. ‘Don’t talk to me like that, you’re not my bloody mum. Been down at the stables. Was my turn to muck Muirne out and exercise her today and I didn’t have time to do it earlier.’ 

‘Oh.’ Fletch felt stupid. The flying horse had demanded a lot of Hargreaves’ time outside of lessons lately, but so far the blasted animal didn’t seem to have provided anything but stalls full of endless shit. ‘Is she flying yet?’ 

‘Next week, Mulciber says,’ Hargreaves grunted. ‘She’s thinking of this place enough like home that we can take her to the skies. Think she needs it; she’s obviously getting bored just being trotted out on a lunge rope.’ 

Increasingly technical terms for horse-keeping had slipped into Hargreaves’ jargon, and Fletch wasn’t entirely convinced she was learning them from books. But she’d been given the opening, so she slid forward, resting her elbow on the coffee table and her chin in her hand. ‘ _Speaking_ of little Mulciber…’ 

Hargreaves groaned. ‘Oh, no…’ 

‘You promised me Quidditch information.’ Fletch tried her sweetest smile. ‘And the odds are going to be really _interesting_ this time. But it won’t be interesting if I make out Slytherin to be the favourites and then they turn out to not be as strong as everyone thinks.’ 

She scowled. ‘We don’t _talk_ , Fletch. It’s about the horse. Horse-care. And we ain’t even there at the same time usually.’ 

‘But when you _are_?’ 

‘ _Fine_. Next week. I’ll _try_.’ 

Fletch kept her smile sugar-sweet as she straightened, opening her hands. ‘That’s all I ask for.’ She looked across at Cecil. ‘ _But_ , in the meantime, there’s Hogsmeade, and _I_ have got us some money to burn on this special occasion…’ Because Evans really _was_ wrong to say money was the only thing Cornelia Fletcher cared about. Money could buy all sorts of things, and some of them were essentials and some of them were luxuries. And some of them were just good days out in Hogsmeade with her friends. 


	15. You Started Something

_Ever since we met you've had a hold on me_   
_It happens to be true_   
_I only want to be with you._   
_-_ _‘I Only Wanna Be With You,’ Bay City Rollers (1976)_

 

‘You promised excitement,’ Jack grumbled as he followed Dory through Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. Dust was in the air and he never was going to understand what nerds found nice about the smell of parchment. It just made him think of hard work and long hours and boring facts he had to drill into his brain, facts he resented and they somehow loved. ‘This ain’t it.’ 

‘Oh, don’t be a fusspot.’ Dory ran her finger along the labels under the shelf of quill nibs. ‘This won’t take five minutes and then we can do something more exciting. I need a new nib. Don’t you go through a zillion quills?’ 

He pulled a well-chewed ballpoint pen out of his pocket. Hogsmeade trips were some of the few times he could get away with wearing his leather jacket in term-time, so he really had no idea how long that pen had been there. ‘No, I joined the twentieth bloody century.’ 

‘Don’t the teachers give you shit for not writing with fancy ink?’ 

‘They did. Now they’re just happy I _write_.’ 

Dory took a small box of replacement nibs from a shelf and smirked at him. ‘Rebelling with a ballpoint pen. Chuckles, you are _quite_ the revolutionary.’ 

He returned the smirk. ‘It ain’t my fault these fuckin’ purebloods want to ignore technology. Making us use obscure things that cost money, _wizarding_ money - just another way for them to keep on pretending they’re better than us -’ 

Which was, of course, the moment Marlene McKinnon and a rather bored-looking Sirius Black rounded the stacks. Either Black hadn’t heard or didn’t care, but Marlene was so bright red she had to, and her little wave down the aisle was awkward. ‘Hey, Dory. Um, Corrigan.’ 

Dory beamed the guiltiest beam. ‘McBrainy. Sirius.’ 

Black gave a lopsided smirk as he glanced at his girlfriend. ‘Oh, you’ve earned a Dory nickname? Makes you more prestigious than me.’ Jack was pretty busy staring at his boots in embarrassment, but he couldn’t help but notice Black was wearing his leather jacket, the newer one, still with the gleam and smell of fresh leather. Jack’s was a tattered hand-me-down from his brother Keith, and even _Keith_ hadn’t bought it new. The writing on the back was all his own, but personalisation wasn’t the same as quality. 

‘Friends get nicknames,’ Dory was saying. ‘Maybe look like you’re having a bit more fun taking the girl out, Sirius, and we’ll get buddy-buddy.’ 

Black’s eyebrows went indignant. ‘I’m not - it’s -’ 

Marlene put an awkward hand to his arm. ‘It’s okay, Sirius. I’m almost done here. It’s just a bit of supply shopping - I know you’re doing the same -’ 

‘Yeah. Thankfully I don’t have to keep Chuckles here happy. Which is just as well as I think he’d rather set fire to the place than buy things.’ 

Jack stiffened. ‘You don’t got to make me sound like an idiot or a brute,’ he mumbled. 

Black gave a fixed smile and took Marlene’s hand. ‘ _Well_ , Dory, guess you’re right,’ he said quickly. ‘We better get all this bought then be off to Winklemeyer’s.’ 

Dory’s expression had flickered with guilt at Jack’s reaction, but then she was too busy mirroring Black’s expression. ‘The teashop, oh, that’s nice and… original. You guys have fun.’ The couple left, but the moment the shop door jangled shut behind them, she smacked herself on the forehead with the box of nibs. ‘Fuck. Is this what it’s like being you?’ 

‘What, setting fire to places?’ He gave her a surly glance. 

She winced. ‘I’m doing well today. I’m _sorry_. That was crappy of me.’ 

‘It’s alright. At least someone made a tit of themselves worse than me for once. Didn’t know you had a problem with McKinnon.’ 

‘I don’t,’ Dory sighed as they went to the counter to buy the nibs. ‘It’s just Sirius and her. I don’t like the way he treats her.’ 

‘That’s a common complaint, yeah.’ 

‘Just I’ve _seen_ Sirius Black when he’s with a girl he likes.’ Her voice went almost wistful - or maybe, Jack wasn’t really sure what word he should be using for the briefly glazed look in her eyes. It didn’t make sense for her to be pining over Black, anyway. ‘And this isn’t it.’ 

‘She made her choice,’ he grumbled, leading the way out. The cold air of winter creeping up on Hogsmeade hit him in the face enough to dismiss the heated embarrassment of their run-in, and he pulled his jacket closer around him. It was not, perhaps, made for the Scottish Highlands this time of year. ‘We ain’t going to save nobody from their own choices.’ 

‘I’m not trying to _save_ her,’ Dory gabbled. ‘It’s - it wouldn’t make sense if I explained it.’ 

He understood that. Words weren’t much his friend, either. But right then he desperately wanted a fag, except he hadn’t brought the emergency pack with him down to Hogsmeade on the risk he’d be searched coming back. ‘Where to now?’ 

‘Let’s get a drink. Three Broomsticks.’ 

They crunched across the cobblestones of Hogsmeade village, ever a sight belonging on a particularly twee postcard. Despite being the only all-wizarding settlement in the country, Jack thought it had to be pretty quiet most of the time, considering how students on a visit day made most of the crowd. It made the Three Broomsticks predictably busy, and getting to the bar wasn’t easy. Jack had to shoulder his way, spikes on his jacket helping, Dory meandering happily in his wake. 

‘Ha. There’s Lily.’ She elbowed him as they waited at the bar, nodding upstairs. 

Jack glanced to the upper level, caught a glimpse of red hair and a flash of laughter and drinks and Wick. ‘Good for them.’ His smirk turned lopsided. ‘Let’s not ruin it by being there.’ 

The guy in front of them at the bar turned, big hands careful as he clasped three pints - but almost walked flat into Dory, and sloshed beer as he staggered to not send everyone flying. ‘Oh, bugger! Sorry, Meadowes.’ 

Jack reached out to steady both Dory and the wavering, lofty shape of Paul Bane. ‘Easy, mate. It’s crowded here.’ 

Bane’s expression pinched as he noticed Jack. It wasn’t disgust or disapproval - Jack recognised _those_ glints in the eye easily - but something else, rather more like guilt. ‘Hey, Corrigan. Having a good day?’ 

‘Course. Don’t let me keep you. Quidditch Team need their drinks.’ 

‘He’s not here with the Quidditch Team,’ said Dory, voice a little clipped, and Jack followed her gaze to a big table in the corner, where Leo Travers and Bernard Clagg sat with Randal Mulciber and Amycus Carrow. ‘Oh, Paul, I thought you were the nice one.’ 

‘I’m not - hey, I’m not buying the _Slytherins_ drinks,’ Bane protested. ‘You know Leo’s an alright guy, Corrigan…’ 

Jack had been tightening his grip on Paul’s shoulder without realising it, and tore his hand away. ‘Oh, piss off, Bane.’ 

‘Jack -’ 

‘Don’t you go sit with a pair of bigoted bullies and join Leo’s descent into prickdom and then try to “ _Jack_ _”_ me. Problem with trying to be everyone’s friend, Bane, is that some people are fucks, and being friends with a fuck makes you a fuck.’ 

Bane stared at him for a moment, big honest eyes puppy-like and sad - then mumbled something like an apology before shrugging past them and heading, predictably, to the meeting of assholery in the corner. Dory watched him go, before glancing up at Jack. 

‘That was poetical, Chuckles. The chain of fucks. The stuff songs are made of.’ 

‘Oh, piss off,’ Jack groaned, and they leaned against the bar to wait their turn. ‘He’s a weak-willed bastard.’ 

‘A bit,’ Dory said. ‘But really, do you see _him_ standing up to Leo Travers in the middle of the Hufflepuff common room and telling him to sit down and shut up?’ 

It was not an easy image to summon. ‘Not sure I see anyone doing that. Hufflepuff likes going with the flow. We pretend we’re all united; really, we just don’t _say_ anything at each other.’ 

‘Unless we want to see Hufflepuffs slamming us into walls, or at least watching the backs of those who do, maybe someone should start.’ 

‘Easy words from the Gryffindor,’ he pointed out, then looked to Madame Rosmerta as she got to them. ‘Pint of ale, and…’ 

‘Oh, I’ll have one of those pink drinks with the vodka and the swirly straw,’ Dory chirped. ‘Make it a double -’ 

‘I don’t know about that,’ came a smooth, familiar voice as someone else joined them at the bar, and Jack’s back seized up. ‘I should warn you, Madame Rosmerta, they’re both sixteen.’ 

To her credit, Madame Rosmerta gave Leo Travers a look of supreme disapproval. _He_ was sixteen, too, but _he_ was drinking with Mulciber and Carrow and was already one pint down. The Three Broomsticks, in Jack’s experience, ran a policy on Hogsmeade days of not asking questions so long as nobody said or did anything awkward - and looked old enough for deniability. Travers outing them was a breach of the unspoken code, what Jack himself would call a ‘dick move,’ but it tied her hands. 

She sighed. ‘Do either of you have any form of identification?’ 

‘Like what?’ Jack said. ‘Would I carry a Muggle driving license with me here? Would you know what it looks like?’ 

Leo Travers gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, Jack. Never change.’ 

Jack rounded on him, taller if not broader, and hated himself for looking in those dark eyes and still seeing the friend he’d mocked the world with for the past five years. ‘What’d I do to piss you off _today_ , Leo?’ 

Dory slunk up next to him. ‘Jack…’ Her warning was a low hiss. 

Leo - Travers - the bastard - didn’t bat an eyelid, because he knew when Jack was posturing and when he was serious. This was posturing. ‘How about lecturing Paul Bane on who he can talk to? I’m having a quiet drink over here with friends. Nobody needs you sticking your nose in.’ 

‘Friends,’ Jack leered, ignoring Dory. ‘They your friends? Or they the friends your _mum_ told you to play nice with? Wouldn’t want to disappoint mumsy, would you -’ 

‘I can serve you Butterbeer,’ cut in Rosmerta, ‘or you can go.’ 

‘Jack.’ That was Dory again, grabbing his elbow. ‘Let’s go.’ She leaned in an dropped her voice. ‘We make a fuss, Lily will notice.’ 

_And Wick, and they_ _’ll intervene, and that’ll be it for their date_. That was the warning; not of Lily’s disapproval, but of her _loyalty_. He clenched and unclenched his fists, before nodding. ‘Alright. We’ll go.’ But he didn’t yet break eye contact with Travers. ‘You once weren’t a streak of piss, Leo. You have a good day.’ 

He didn’t realise he was shaking until they were out the door, back in the frozen air of Hogsmeade, and Dory squeezed his arm. ‘I know I just said someone had to stand up to him -’ 

‘That weren’t the time. I know.’ He swallowed bile. ‘But I _really_ need a fuckin’ drink now.’ 

Without another word they started for the Hog’s Head. The floor was sticky, the glasses not properly cleaned, but it was where they could go to get a proper pint. And, indeed, old Abe pulled him a glass of something tall and dark and Dory didn’t get anything pink, but it was green and swirly and smoking. 

‘This is fine,’ she said pointedly, and managed to not gag as she downed half of it. ‘I think that’s crystal absinthe in there.’ She thudded her chest and grabbed his sleeve. ‘If I die, you can have my quill nibs.’ 

He reached out to steady her perch on the tall bar stool, grinning. ‘Hey, at least it’s _quieter_ in here.’ It was also dark; too dark to make out everyone there, which was part of the charm. But if anyone came here wanting to drive out Hogwarts students, gloomy corners wouldn’t save them, and he preferred to sit front and centre, enjoy the atmosphere of comings and goings even in this most dubious of establishments. It was one of the few places in the wizarding world where he didn’t get eyeballed like he didn’t belong, because this was a place for magic scum, and scum of all types stuck together. Sometimes toxically. ‘So what _is_ your problem with Black?’ It meant she wouldn’t quiz him more on Travers. 

Dory made a face, sipped her drink, and made _another_ face. ‘It’s not really a problem with _him_. I mean, it is. But he’s a fun guy. I do like him.’ 

‘You got a funny way of showing it.’ 

‘It’s - look, Jack, it’s kind of complicated.’ 

He squinted. ‘You don’t got a thing for him, like everyone else, do you?’ 

‘ _No_! Why does everyone keep _asking_ me that?’ 

‘Maybe ‘cos you act funny whenever the topic of him and girls come up. Any girl, McKinnon, Macdonald…’ 

Fate showed it had a sense of humour, a peal of familiar giggles cutting them off as a trio of girls they hadn’t noticed in the gloom stood from their table in a dark corner and stumbled for the door. Dory tensed, and Jack recognised Macdonald and the eternally interchangeable Derby and Stump. 

‘…Baddock _didn_ _’t_ …’ 

‘Of course she did!’ 

‘With _Finchley_?’ 

‘Like it’s _just_ Finchley; girl’s a walking disaster and pretends _she_ can turn her nose up at everyone else…’ 

The train of gossip, kept at a very discreet set of yelled whispers, followed them from table to door as they wandered out. Only at the door did Mary look up, spot them, give them a sunny smile and wave, and then all three were gone, staggering into the chilly streets of Hogsmeade and onward to the day’s distractions. 

Jack looked at Dory, still frozen with a mirror of Mary’s wave and smile, only they looked a lot stupider on her. And then _he_ felt stupid. ‘ _Oh_.’ 

She went bright red. ‘ _What?_ ’ 

‘Macdonald.’ 

‘What _about_ -’ 

He lifted his hands. ‘It’s okay. I ain’t judging. I just didn’t know you…’ He floundered for words. ‘Wear flannel.’ 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Because I didn’t _tell_ people.’ 

‘Does Lily know?’ 

‘Of course not!’ 

Jack frowned. ‘You don’t fancy Lily, do you?’ 

Dory worked her jaw wordlessly. ‘No, but - why would that be a bad thing?’ she said eventually, sounding like this was not the only point to raise about this issue. 

He shrugged and peered at his pint. It looked safer, but he’d got this far. ‘We just got a good thing going right now, the three of us. Don’t want it to get awkward.’ 

She groaned. ‘You like girls, right, Jack?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Do _you_ fancy Lily?’ 

‘No.’ He squinted at her. ‘Oh, I get it.’ 

‘You get that I don’t want to hurl myself at _every_ girl I see?’ But her gaze softened, and she patted him on the arm. ‘Thanks. For being mostly cool with this. A bit of a tit, but cool.’ 

‘So that’s your problem with Black,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Mary?’ 

‘I know they’re broken up,’ she sighed, and stirred her godawful drink with the straw. ‘But he still _obviously_ likes her. And they laugh together and I just - I don’t know what ended it and every time he’s rotten to Marlene it’s so easy to imagine him breaking her heart and going back to Mary.’ 

‘And do you know if Mary…’ Jack stopped, again fishing for words. Most of his vocabulary on this topic had been supplied by his friends back in Peckham, and he knew this was no source of enlightenment and understanding. Years of being looked at like shit had him ready to think twice about his knee-jerk reactions to Dory’s revelation. But she was watching him with that mock-innocent, wide-eyed, expectant gaze, and he knew he was being tested. ‘Likes girls?’ 

It wasn’t the wrong thing to say, but Dory still rolled her eyes. ‘She went out with Black, didn’t she. I don’t know, I’ve tried the hints and all that but she’s not reacted.’ 

‘She _is_ from a farm in Cumbria, not exactly the streets of Soho,’ he pointed out. 

‘I _know_.’ Dory groaned, and scrubbed her face with her hands. ‘Aren’t we a pair of idiots with girls?’ 

He squinted again. ‘What?’ 

‘Never mind.’ She looked up, and made a face. ‘Wow. Now you mention it, going out with Lily would be so _shouty_.’ 

‘She _is_ shouty,’ he agreed, sipping his pint. ‘You’d have to be pretty dumb or pretty brave to go there.’ 

‘I suppose we get to quiz her later,’ said Dory with a smirk, playing with the straw, ‘on which Wick is.’

§ 

‘…Bubotuber pus went _everywhere_ , the cauldron boiled over, which of course meant -’

Lily’s hands flew to her mouth in a mixture of horror and hilarity. ‘Oh, _no_.’ 

‘Yes - all into the bowl of thickening agent, which _grew_ …’ Wick’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head, chuckling. ‘Nate and I had to _scrape_ that off the workbenches. It took us, oh, somewhere in the region of four hours.’ 

‘That’s awful,’ she said with sympathy. ‘I’ve not seen anything that bad happen in Potions class. Well, not by accident. There was the time Potter tried to corrugate the bottom of the cauldron because he’d read something about surface area. And you can imagine how well magically warping cauldron brass while it’s still over flame went.’ 

He gave a wince of a smile. ‘I’m assuming, unless he actually increased the cauldron’s mass to keep thickness consistent, we’re talking about at _best_ a leak. At worst - well, what _was_ the concoction that came into contact with flame?’ 

‘Oh, you know,’ said Lily, smirking over her glass of whisky. ‘Flammable.’ 

The awkwardness of yesterday was gone. Lily’s sample data on other dates for purposes of exact and scientific comparison was sorely limited, but if the happy butterflies rampaging inside her made a good qualitative source, it was going _rather well_. She’d ditched Dory after breakfast to avoid more awful comments, met Wick at the doors, and their walk so far from Hogwarts to the Three Broomsticks had been an amiable, cheerful time of easy anecdotes. Superficial though the chit-chat was, it was nice to sit down for one-on-one conversation with a man who was interested in her without being an outrageous arse most of the time or secretly wanting her and all like her dead. 

So her standards were pretty low, she had to concede. 

He gestured to her glass as she drained it. ‘Do you want another?’ 

‘ _One_ more,’ she said, but got to her feet. ‘And it’s my round. No more than that, or I’ll be weaving back to the castle and a prefect can only tarnish their reputation _so_ much.’ 

‘There’s something to be said for keeping one judicious foot in the lengthy shadow of Nathaniel and the extensive McKinnon brood,’ he said with a smile, but didn’t stop her getting the next round. 

It took a bit of elbowing to get to the bar. They’d been served once before, as Wick wasa Seventh Year. Lily doubted Madame Rosmerta would balk at a second round when there’d been a first, and indeed, the landlady took the two empty glasses and hurried off to get two more. 

‘ _Evans_!’ A familiar, jubilant voice burst into being next to her, and Lily tried to not roll her eyes as James Potter lounged against the bar next to her. ‘Every time _society_ _’s_ not looking, you’re getting plastered with whisky. What’s all that about?’ 

‘ _Potter_.’ She turned, gaze arch. ‘Don’t you have Black’s date with Marlene to ruin? Isn’t she going to interfere with the love that dare not speak its name if the relationship lasts much longer?’ 

He was leaning _very_ heavily against the bar, and waved a dismissive hand. ‘You don’t worry. Don’t you worry. After all, you reckon he’ll screw it up all by himself soon enough!’ 

Lily sniffed, and peered at him. ‘Are you _drunk_?’ 

‘We’re in a _pub_ -’ 

‘It’s two o’ clock in the afternoon, Potter. Christ, you’re a train wreck this year.’ 

‘And you’re…’ His unfocused gaze narrowed, and his voice trailed off. ‘That’s two glasses. Getting judgemental?’ 

Lily paid Madame Rosmerta and picked up the drinks. ‘How do you think the Gryffindors are going to feel following you into Quidditch battle, hm?’ 

‘I think,’ said Potter, waggling his finger wildly, ‘they don’t care what I get up to on a Hogsmeade day. Unlike you. You seem to care. A _lot_. What’s _that_ about?’ 

Her brow furrowed. ‘You’re right. I don’t care. You’re Remus’ problem. And _I_ have to get back to drinks with a _nice_ man.’ 

‘ _Nice_.’ Potter swept his hand across and made a ‘whoosh’ noise. ‘Knocked the legs _right_ out from under me there, Evans. How do I compete with _nice_.’ 

‘Trust me. This isn’t a competition.’ Rolling her eyes, she pushed past him to return to her table with Wick upstairs. He’d been watching the lower level, and gave her a concerned frown as she returned. 

‘Trouble with Potter? I thought he was an alright sort of chap.’ 

‘He’s just drunk. He’s Remus Lupin’s problem. Again. But I’m not here with him.’ She sat down and slid the other glass of whisky across the table. ‘I’m here with you. Wick.’ Lily paused. ‘It feels awkward being here on a date and calling you by your last name like we’re, I don’t know, in some sort of American cop TV show.’ 

‘I was going for “poncy British boarding school” which, let’s face it…’ His voice trailed off, and he winced. ‘This isn’t just not _liking_ my name. You say “Gerald” and I’ll honestly think you’re talking to someone else.’ 

‘So what do you get called at home?’ 

‘Wes, usually.’ He shifted his weight as she peered at him, nonplussed. ‘Well, you see… my family is very traditional. Very old. Wealthy. And it’s a little bit embarrassing.’ 

Lily thought of her sister. ‘Families can be embarrassing.’ 

‘Not like that. You’ll think I’m having you on. Or bragging.’ But he let out a slow, unsteady breath. ‘Gerald’s a family name. For my maternal grandfather. But Mother calls me “Wes” at home, because it’s short for “Wessex”. Which…’ He sipped his whisky, an obvious delaying tactic, so she stayed silent and let him talk. ‘My father is Peregrine Wick, twelfth Earl of Somerset, and the Viscount Wessex.’ He said all of this quite fast, staring at his drink, and jumped when Lily burst into laughter. ‘What - I - I assure you, this is no prank…’ 

She had to clutch her gut to hold in the laughter, and it took a few seconds before she could regain her composure. ‘I - no, Wick, I’m sorry, I believe you, and it’s not funny, it’s not, it’s just…’ _Petunia would shit a brick._ She straightened, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s just not what I expected. I’m sorry. Please. Go on.’ 

‘That’s more or less _it_ ,’ he said with a wince. ‘As his eldest son and heir I’m entitled to style myself Viscount Wessex, his _lesser_ title. And while you might believe the peerage is being dragged kicking and screaming into the twentieth century, Father still stands at the threshold of the Victorian era with a musket trying to valiantly deny the future passage. My grandfather was the same, by all accounts. First names are terribly _common_ things. So I was Wes at home, and then Wes or Wessex in prep school, and then magic and Hogwarts happened and I never really _was_ … Gerald. Never have been.’ 

He’d gone a bit pink, and while Lily’s first instinct was not to feel sorry for a man who had probably never wanted for anything in his life, he was so self-effacing she couldn’t hold it against him - and had to wonder what a shock to the system it had been to tumble from the upper echelons of society in the Muggle world to the very lowest in the wizarding. ‘How did _they_ take your magical abilities?’ 

‘It’s been a rather mixed bag, I can’t lie,’ said Wick, looking more relaxed now he was on the topic of more routine family tensions. ‘Horror at first, but Professor McGonagall was very quick to point out some past examples of wizards and witches in my situation; before the Statute it was considered something of an honour in many circles. Especially in our part of the country. So that mollified Father, though I think he expects me to go go off to Hogwarts as a part of my education and then… well.’ The corners of his eyes creased. ‘Our arguments this summer on the subject of my future have been plentiful.’ 

‘I can imagine.’ 

‘He wants me to speak with Professor Flitwick about Hogwarts’ measures to falsify qualifications for the Muggle world. There’s a whole institution revolving around this, a fictional stand-in school that exists in lots of Muggle records and lots of Muggles have heard of, but nobody _actually_ attends. I should be using it now to make my application to Cambridge University, Father says.’ 

And like that, he was back in a lifestyle a million miles away from her own. ‘You don’t want to?’ 

‘Can _you_ imagine walking away from this world? Especially now, especially with so much that’s going on. It would feel like - it would be cowardice, it would be abandoning all manner of people who _don_ _’t_ have my opportunity to escape. It would be accepting defeat.’ He shook his head, tense. ‘I cannot pretend I have all the answers on what will happen with my family, but I am not about to leave the magical world and pretend it doesn’t exist, even if that’s what Father wants.’ 

‘Families can be difficult like that.’ 

He put down his glass and leaned forwards, gaze softening. ‘I’ve blathered on and not asked about _you_.’ 

‘Your story was the more dramatic,’ Lily said with a lopsided smile. 

‘How did you family take it, then? Magic?’ 

She let out a long breath, and thought of months that felt like a lifetime ago. Everything was so easily ordered in her mind, a simple Before and After, and everything in Before was hazy, like a pink mist of idealisation had settled upon it. ‘My parents were thrilled, once they understood,’ she said wistfully. ‘My sister - I’d like to think she was jealous, and that made her resentful, and that made her lash out. It’s nicer to think that than to think she really _is_ so closed-minded that learning of something _different_ made her hate me.’ 

Wick hesitated - then his hand moved a few inches across the table, fingertips tracing across her knuckles clutching the glass. ‘That sounds rather awful,’ he said softly. 

Lily dropped her gaze, but the contact still sent rivulets of warmth ebbing through her, loosening the tension that came from thinking of Petunia and replacing it with an entirely different and _far_ nicer kind of apprehension. ‘She’s older than me, she’s left home. She’s not the problem any more.’ 

It wasn’t what she’d meant to say. But it was what she’d said, and he was smart enough to pick up on it. ‘Your parents have become less thrilled over the years?’ 

‘My parents -’ She stopped herself, for the first time in a while in a place where she couldn’t simply evade. It had been her habit for so long that she hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t decided what she’d say if it ever came up directly, but now she was _here_ and except for _pain_ she couldn’t think of a single, good reason to lie. ‘My mother’s dead,’ she said at last. ‘She died two years ago.’ 

He wilted, fingers on the back of her hand tensing. ‘I’m so sorry.’ 

She’d never been very good at figuring out how to respond to that. ‘It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But it meant Dad and Petunia had more things to care about than my future in magic.’ But she didn’t want to talk about this any more than ever, and on an impulse she let go of the whisky glass to let her fingers entwine with his. ‘But this is meant to be a much cheerier day.’ 

There was a moment he looked like he might press the issue, then he nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking of conducting a most daring break-in to Filch’s office to get my Lennon record back,’ he said after a heartbeat’s hesitation. 

It was the right thing to say, the right segue into a whole new topic of indignation and rebellion, a hefty dose of complaining about Abernathy and the Slytherins. It took them through the next few drinks and then wandering out of the Three Broomsticks as the afternoon started to wind down. They were leaving a _little_ early, but it meant they could wander back to the castle just the two of them, instead of part of the crowded procession of students. 

‘…and honestly, I expected _much_ better of McGonagall…’ 

‘Professor McGonagall’s very good,’ Lily said, surprising herself with her defensiveness. She’d slipped her arm in his, and their route was a meandering one along the winding path back to Hogwarts, his closeness warming on a chilly autumn day in more ways than one. ‘You’d have been punished _far_ worse for the Lennon stunt if it weren’t for her.’ 

‘I shouldn’t have _needed_ the Lennon stunt; honestly, she needs to give Abernathy and Slughorn thick ears.’ Wick grimaced apologetically. ‘I know Sluggy’s a fan of yours -’ 

Whisky made her bold and impish. ‘Jealous?’ she interrupted with a grin. 

He made a show of staggering to a halt, agog as he turned to face her. ‘I _wasn_ _’t_ , but now you challenge me I wonder if I _ought_ to be…’ 

She giggled in a way which wasn’t especially like her, but it softened the grin. ‘Of course not.’ 

A few drinks and good humour and conversation had brought them this far; broken through the initial apprehensions of fleeting physical contact to the point they’d not thought twice about walking arm-in-arm. But all of that warmth and build-up suddenly rushed away, leaving her so aware of the chill in the wind, so aware of the distance between them - and the lack thereof. She could see their breath misting the air and then mingling together, see his bright eyes flicker across her face. And when his head tilted down, all she knew to do was reach back. 

Lily had done a fantastic job so far of not admitting even to Dory - perhaps especially to Dory - that she’d never been kissed before. The world did not stop; birds did not suddenly spring into song overhead, and she was not abruptly filled with renewed goodwill towards all mankind. But even with the fumbling embrace, the faintest scrape of teeth, the awkward uncertainty, her heart pounded loud enough in her ears to deafen, her instincts saw her fingers curling in his coat, and when she pulled back, they were both grinning like idiots. 

‘That… was nice,’ mumbled Lily Evans, master of romance. 

‘It seemed the thing to do,’ came the almost apologetic confession of Gerald Wick, hardly salvaging the intimacy. Neither bumbling comment killed the grins, though, and it took them a good while longer than it should have to get back to the castle, a lengthy meander of two people tipsy on whisky and drunk on each other. 

They were not the first back, a lot of the older students jaded by their own freedom such that Hogsmeade could not captivate them _all_ day, as became abundantly clear when they stopped in the corridors to say goodbye. The sudden appearance of Eadric Jeddler, the Head Boy, bursting out from the Great Hall with a fistful of papers was enough to make them leap away from each other like they’d been doing something wrong, but he didn’t seem to care. 

‘ _Wick_!’ He bowled up to them, clutching the papers which Lily could see - once she’d calmed down - looked printed and duplicated, laid out like a one-sheet edition of the _Prophet_. ‘Have you _seen_ this?’ 

Jeddler was not part of Nathaniel McKinnon’s little gang, but he and Wick were housemates, and obviously close enough that Wick could just _glare_ at him for the interruption. ‘Bloody hell, Jeddler, this had better be an emergency on par with world-wide wizarding war -’ 

But Jeddler just thrust a pair of pamphlets at them, wide-eyed, wild-haired. ‘ _Read_ this! I’ve found copies littered all over the school, in our common room, in our _dorms_ , and Gulpidge says they’re in the Hufflepuff rooms too…’ 

Automatically Lily read the piece of paper in her hands, though for the moment all she could process was the title, etched in stylised letters and simply saying, ‘ _Gutters_.’ Below it were headlines, words and names leaping up at her - Dumbledore, Drake, Mulciber, even _Baddock_ … 

‘I don’t know who wrote it,’ Jeddler jabbered. ‘I don’t know how they got it here. But it’s got - it’s saying things about the headmaster, it’s saying _loads_ more about Drake, and it’s even going after students, like some godawful _gossip_ magazine with an agenda…’ 

Lily knew she was going to have to stop her head from spinning so she could concentrate and read very soon, but for the moment all she could do was glance up at Wick. He’d recovered from the flustered interruption far better than her, piercing gaze flickering over the writing, and while he seemed affected he did not look, she thought, especially surprised. 

‘Going after Drake, Mulciber? My, my, my,’ he said, and clicked his tongue. ‘ _Someone_ _’s_ decided to unleash quite the scandal.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I occasionally struggle in my attribution of the title songs. After all, ‘I Only Wanna Be With You’ was originally sung by Dusty Springfield - in 1963. But considering the Bay City Rollers’ cover was #4 in the charts at the time this chapter takes place, I imagine that version has rather more relevance to Lily, Wick, Jack, and Dory._


	16. What'll You Do Now

_I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'  
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest_   
_-_ _‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall,’ Bob Dylan (1962)_

Sirius’s day at Hogsmeade hadn’t been great. For years past, the trip was supposed to be a chance for all _four_ of them to go on a bender around the village. Even if he’d had a girlfriend - and it was only ever _him_ , even if Peter was still proving shockingly successful with girls - he’d usually made plans to meet up with them later, after he’d got his fun with the Marauders out of the way. But the burning drive in him, set alight by Evans’ bitchy comments, to make this _work_ with Marlene meant he’d instead spent a _very_ long afternoon in Winklemeyer’s Teashop. 

He’d pissed like a racehorse once they got back. And then he’d found James absolutely shitfaced. 

‘We was in the pub,’ James slurred when Sirius came into the dorm that evening to find him face-down on his bed. ‘Peter made us do _shots_.’ 

‘He poured himself about _five_ ,’ Peter said later downstairs when challenged, though because it was Peter, he looked beside himself with guilt at _anything_ happening to James. ‘All I suggested was a little pick-me-up.’ 

‘We did try to stop him,’ agreed Remus mildly, then lifted the printed sheaf of paper. ‘Have you seen this, Sirius?’ 

Sirius didn’t look at what he’d assumed was a newspaper article until much later, James his primary concern. Especially when he was back in the dormitory only to have James clutching at the front of his robes. 

‘ _Whack_ ,’ he groaned, or that was what Sirius _thought_ he said. 

Sirius stared. ‘What?’ 

‘Whack. What?’ James screwed up his face, then shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Wick, I mean.’ 

‘Wick the Ravenclaw? What about him?’ 

‘Evans. She’s gone from all greasy ‘n bastardy to poncy ‘n… poncy,’ James slurred, letting go to slump back onto the bed. ‘They was in the Broomsticks. The Three. Three Broomsticks, I mean, there weren’t three of ‘em _inside_ broomsticks -’ 

‘Okay, Prongs, I think you need to just lie down -’ 

‘I _am_ lyin’ down,’ James pointed out, spreadeagled on the four-poster. ‘ _You_ lie down.’ 

Sirius rubbed his temples. He’d never managed to unravel the web of where James’ treatment of Evans was genuine attraction and where he was just trying to wind up the fussiest Gryffindor prefect. Doing so after the last few weeks of James’ moods, of his professed indifference to Evans, and with his current shit-faced-ness, didn’t sound like a fun or easy idea. ‘Is this why you’re drunk?’ 

‘I’m _drunk_ because _Wormtail_ poured me _shots_.’ 

‘You poured _yourself_ shots.’ Sirius sighed, and sank onto the bed next to him. ‘You’ve been really worrying me, mate.’ 

James only stirred weakly. ‘Whassat?’ 

‘These few weeks. The McKinnon party was great, and then you came back and you’re… different. Angry. You never used to be _angry_ before. Not like this. And I don’t get it, and I don’t understand it, and I don’t know what to _do_ about it.’ He stared at his knees. ‘And… you don’t talk to me. I know I’ve had my own things going on, my own problems. But we used to talk. About pretty much everything. But every time I try to bring this up, you brush me off. And I thought you were getting better, with Quidditch coming, but now you’re going off to Hogsmeade to get so drunk you can’t _stand_? What’s going _on_ , Prongs?’ 

Long seconds dragged out, the dormitory empty save the two of them, and it took a while of James not answering before Sirius finally dared lift his head, finally dared look over. ‘Prongs?’ James, lying flat on the bed with his eyes shut, began to snore. Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Of bloody course.’ 

The next morning, James was too busy feeling sorry for himself for Sirius to even think of raising the topic again, and it turned out there was more than enough distraction to keep the whole _school_ busy. 

‘So what the hell _is_ this “ _Gutters_ ” thing?’ Sirius asked Remus as they headed down for breakfast, James left to sleep off his suffering, Peter already down there. 

‘Some sort of anonymous paper,’ said Remus, brow furrowed. ‘It was everywhere when we got back from Hogsmeade, and sounds like it’s made it into most dormitories, every common room. Though I can’t speak for Slytherin. And I’m _assuming_ it’s a student who’s decided to write two sides criticising the school, digging up dirt on Drake, and then throwing gossip on Baddock and the Mulcibers all over the place.’ He glanced up and down the corridor, then slipped him a folded issue. ‘I expect the teachers to start banning possession of it in about ten minutes, so be discreet.’ 

‘Of course.’ So Sirius read it openly as they made for the Great Hall, considering he’d stashed several copies in the dormitory on principle. ‘This looks almost professionally made.’ 

‘It was printed, yes, though maybe only once, maybe then magically duplicated.’ 

Sirius read quickly. ‘Yikes. Drake hasn’t actually worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in over ten years? And what he’s been doing since is an absolute mystery? That’s not at all concerning.’ 

‘ _Quite_. That part, at least, has some sort of journalistic merit. The rest is just gossip rag mess.’ 

The section complaining about Dumbledore’s abandonment of the school was thoroughly vitriolic, though Sirius struggled to disagree with the sentiment of it. And then came the parts on the students; Baddock having been asked out by Burke only to immediately, reportedly, drag Finchley into a broom-closet for snogging… objectively, he didn’t care. In practice, it was difficult to not snicker at the hypocrisy, especially when Baddock had been giving him such a hard time. ‘That girl’s an absolute train-wreck.’ 

‘And she’s made a lot of enemies,’ Remus pointed out, but then they were approaching the Great Hall and Sirius had to shove his copy of _Gutters_ in a pocket. 

‘What did the section on Mulciber say?’ 

The atmosphere at breakfast was almost tangibly different. Lots of hushed whispers, lots of discreet and indiscreet pushing around of papers, and lots of pointed looks at particular people, not all of them mentioned in _Gutters_. Remus ignored them and headed for Peter at the Gryffindor table, but kept his voice low, conversational. ‘Something about his late father having publicly distanced himself from You-Know-Who’s movement before he died, condemning the violence. It’s a pretty cheap ploy.’ 

‘I’d say ouch,’ Sirius agreed, ‘but fuck Mulciber. Both of them.’ 

Peter, chuckling, slipped his own copy under his plate as they arrived. ‘No sign of Baddock yet,’ he said. ‘I bet she’s hiding.’ 

‘I’m not surprised,’ mused Remus. 

‘So who do you think wrote it?’ Peter said. 

Sirius helped himself to the bacon. ‘They had to have _some_ money or resources to get at least one copy printed.’ 

‘Which will be hard to keep up if they had that done externally and they want to do it again, once the school tries clamping down on it,’ said Remus. ‘But otherwise, it’s not difficult to find people who dislike Drake, Mulciber, and Baddock.’ 

Sirius nodded. ‘I wonder about Nathaniel. Money, motive.’ 

‘Or Wick,’ Remus added. ‘A grand display is his style, he showed that with the Lennon stunt.’ 

‘Except he was with Evans all yesterday,’ Peter pointed out. 

Sirius shrugged. ‘There could be more than one person behind it. Or they were put in place before someone left the castle.’ 

‘People in different Houses would make a lot of sense,’ Remus agreed, ‘seeing as they were found in all sorts of common rooms and places.’ 

Sirius grinned. ‘So there’s a _secret gossip network_ right under our noses in Hogwarts, righting wrongs and then taking swipes at people just because they don’t like them. It’s like a nasty Robin Hood.’ 

Remus’ brow furrowed. ‘I don’t see how -.’ 

Professor McGonagall stood from the head table and clapped briskly twice, enough to make the Hall fall silent. ‘If I could have your attention. As I’m sure all of you know, someone has taken it upon themselves not just to spread several malicious and unsubstantiated rumours about members of staff and the student body around school, but they have done so in writing, and broken in to dormitories and common rooms and other private places in order to distribute it. Hogwarts will not tolerate the spreading of such cruel libel, not against its teachers, and not against its pupils. As of this moment, you are all _banned_ from possessing a copy of this so-called _Gutters_ paper. We will find the perpetrators and they will be _heavily_ punished. And if anyone knows anything about this, then they should step forward now, for the good of the school.’ She paused, flinty gaze sweeping across the Great Hall. ‘I am aware there are many copies in this room. I encourage you all to leave them behind at the end of breakfast, and no more shall be said on the matter. If you are spotted with this tripe after, however, there will be consequences. Thank you.’ 

Sirius scowled as McGonagall sat again. ‘What, she’s _defending_ Drake?’ 

‘Guess she has to,’ Peter pointed out. ‘He’s a teacher, she can’t do much about it. And she can’t really let them complain about Dumbledore, can she?’ 

‘Yeah, but banning it’s only going to make _everyone_ want to read it.’ 

Remus looked up at the head table, corners of his lips curling. ‘And so everyone will become thoroughly suspicious of Professor Drake. I wonder if that’s intentional.’ 

Sirius beamed. ‘The sly old bird. You really think she’s on our side?’ 

‘I don’t know if this is _our_ side,’ Remus said. ‘This _Gutters_ writer might come after anyone next. But I dare say Professor McGonagall knows what she’s doing.’ 

Certainly _Gutters_ ’ banning did nothing to harm its circulation. Sirius saw copies slipped between students under desktops, passed in crowded corridors, and an abundance in the Gryffindor common room. Even if prefects were supposed to help in clamping down on it, most of them didn’t. Even _Evans_ simply tutted and said, ‘Don’t let a teacher see you with that,’ when she passed a Third Year reading it by the fireplace. 

The piece on Dumbledore did nothing good for anyone’s mood, but the school had accepted their headmaster’s absence. The piece on Drake proved _far_ more damning, as demonstrated in the Sixth Years’ Defence lesson a couple of days after, when at the end of class the professor turned around to ask if anyone had any questions, and wearily nodded when Dory’s hand shot up in the air. 

‘Were you in the circus?’ 

Drake narrowed his eyes. ‘ _Excuse_ me, Miss Meadowes?’ 

‘The last ten years, sir. See, we’ve got a bit of a bet on what you _were_ doing the last ten years, and some people think it was secret missions for the Ministry, some people think it was working for - other people, but _I_ think you might have been in the circus -’ 

‘You’re admitting to reading _banned_ materials?’ 

Dory smiled with impish innocence. ‘I read it the first morning, sir. It wasn’t banned, then.’ Most of the class snickered and she of course got detention, but Drake’s impotent frustration was almost tangible as he dismissed them, and not a soul in Gryffindor felt sorry for him. The tone of his lessons had not especially brightened. 

Sirius didn’t witness or hear of anyone challenging the Mulcibers directly, but nobody had such reticence when it came to Dorothy Baddock. A Fifth Year Ravenclaw with a crush on Burke laid into her openly on the Monday afternoon, once general opinion had so safely turned against her that nobody would intervene. It was public, and loud, and only disrupted by a rather flappy Professor Flitwick urging them to move along down to lunch instead of dawdling in the corridors. 

‘It’s not the first time,’ Marlene said wearily as he walked her to Ravenclaw Charms later. ‘Dorothy’s tough like centaur-hide and hasn’t let it get the better of her, but she’s been getting a lot of comments in the common room the last couple of days. Rufus is _furious_ , of course, and embarrassed, the poor guy.’ 

‘You sound almost sorry for her,’ said Sirius as they stopped at the classroom, and he offered back the bag he’d carried for her. 

Marlene gave a sad shrug. ‘She _was_ my friend for a long time. It’s hard to wish her ill.’ 

_Even after all she did to you?_ Sirius thought but didn’t say, and instead just kissed goodbye the girl he had a sneaking suspicion was too good a person for him. 

Although the school wouldn’t forget _Gutters_ and its implications fast, the paper didn’t last as the all-consuming concern for Hogwarts. Because the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin loomed ahead, and James had done a fine job of stripping down any illusions that this contest was going to be about simple House rivalry. 

‘You’re going to win for us, yeah?’ babbled a little Hufflepuff Second Year to James as she passed him and Sirius wandering the corridor Tuesday morning. She beamed and ran off when James just gave her a wink and a thumbs up. 

‘Us?’ Sirius echoed. 

‘She’s a Muggle-born,’ James sighed, and they pressed on to class. 

He’d scheduled Quidditch practises every day in this last fortnight leading up to the match. Some of them Sirius watched; others, he used as an opportunity to spend more time with Marlene, confident in the knowledge he wouldn’t miss too many of his friends hijinks. They were hardly going to do anything exciting without him _and_ James. And very quickly the practises became awkward to watch, James visibly wound so tight Sirius had to wonder if he was going to snap sometime soon. 

This tension followed him back to the common room on the Thursday night after Hogsmeade. Sirius was up there to help Remus and Peter with notes for Arithmancy, and for once the Quidditch team did not burst back to the adoring crowds full of the vim and vigour of certain victory. 

‘…he’ll do better next time,’ Mary was saying to James in a hushed voice which still managed to carry in the previous stillness of the common room. 

Dirk Cresswell hurried up next to them, covered in mud. ‘It was just _one_ slip, James -’ 

James turned, broom brandished for furious emphasis. ‘ _One_ slip might cost us the _match_ , Dirk! You can’t be “okay” out there, you have to be _better_! You’re the Seeker; if this goes wrong, it doesn’t matter _how_ good anyone else on the field is. If you screw it up, you let down _everyone_ on the team! And next Saturday, Graham Mulciber isn’t going to be “okay”, he’s going to be doing his bloody best to be the _best Seeker in Hogwarts_. It’s not enough, Dirk!’ 

Cresswell shrank back, small and slight next to James’ towering fury, and that was the moment James seemed to realise the whole room’s eyes were on him. With a vague, furious mutter, he stalked to the stairs. 

‘James -’ Mary sighed noisily and hurried in his wake. 

Sirius got to his feet, giving Remus and Peter concerned frowns. They just shrugged. ‘There’s no point in crowding him,’ Remus said. He was right, so Sirius went alone, leaving the tense common room and the frantic Quidditch team being patched together by the calm, mellow tones of Shacklebolt. 

James was pacing back and forth in their dormitory, but Mary stood there too, arms folded across her chest. ‘…you’ve got to understand -’ She stopped when Sirius came in, and James turned his back roughly on them both, which gave her the chance to throw Sirius a tense, worried smile. 

He returned the glance, then looked to James. ‘Everything alright, mate?’ Sirius said cautiously. 

‘Hardly!’ James rounded back on them, hands in the air. ‘He’s not good enough!’ 

‘Dirk?’ 

‘Of _course_ Dirk -’ 

‘You’re pushing him too hard, James,’ said Mary levelly. ‘You gave him a big show of confidence by keeping him on as Seeker -’ 

‘Because there was nobody _better_ in try-outs.’ 

Sirius saw Mary’s lips thin, and knew what she was thinking - _she_ would have been better. But like a good team player, she didn’t say that. ‘…but now you’re holding him to an impossible standard. Dirk knows the stakes; we _all_ do.’ 

‘And the stakes say he needs to be _better_.’ 

‘No, he needs to _believe_ in himself!’ Mary took a short, angry step forward. ‘And you did that for us the last few weeks, gave us a fire so we believed we could win! But _you_ _’re_ cracking, James, and you’re going to make everyone _else_ crack. I know you don’t think Dirk can beat Mulciber. _I_ wouldn’t bet on it either. But he _certainly_ won’t succeed if you push him to breaking point, because he knows you’re doing it because you don’t believe in him.’ 

James’ shoulders sagged, but his voice was a low, resentful mutter. ‘I’m not making everyone else crack. You know I believe we can all do it. It’s only Dirk -’ 

‘James, you can’t turn him into a brilliant Seeker in the next nine days. You can’t replace him. We can practice all we like and get our plays polished and smooth but you know what happens in the final furlong of a match. We have to keep our _nerve_.’ 

He closed his eyes, then scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘And most of that is about belief.’ His hands dragged down so he could peer at her, haggard and worn. ‘When’d you get so smart about managing a team?’ 

She smiled sadly. ‘Listening to you complain about how Sturgis wasn’t doing it right all these years. We’ve got your back, Skipper. Those people out there? They’d walk through fire for you. We’re all ready to. Just - just don’t let us feel like you’ll yell at us when we burn.’ 

‘Yeah. Okay.’ James sighed. ‘I can do that.’ Then he smiled, and like that, everything was back to normal. ‘Hallowe’en on Saturday, anyway. I’ll throw the best damn party for them.’ 

‘That’ll help.’ She looked between them, then patted Sirius on the arm. ‘I’ll let you hose him off.’ 

‘We don’t actually do that together!’ Sirius called after her with mock indignation, but then she was gone, and he was left in the room with the exhausted and guilty James. ‘She’s a smart girl. But it’s just one Quidditch match - I know it matters but -’ 

‘I just want to prove I _can_ be the Captain, Pads,’ James groaned. ‘I spent the last two years bitching about Sturgis because I thought I could do it. It’s going to be _embarrassing_ if I fuck up on the first match.’ 

The corners of Sirius’ eyes creased. ‘Is that the only reason?’ 

‘Course.’ James smiled a sudden, sunny smile. ‘So let’s figure out Saturday night up here; everyone deserves a good chance to blow off steam a week before the match…’

§ 

_Gutters_ ' effect on Slytherin House had been strange. Nobody wanted to mention it, especially not in earshot of the brothers Mulciber, and yet clearly nobody ignored the paper or its implications. Randal had stalked about for the last week like a bear with a headache, glaring daggers at anyone who so much inferred that they’d seen the paper, as if he could erase it from mass awareness with enough raw intimidation.

‘He’s lucky it didn’t come out a year ago,’ said Saul one morning in the bathroom, fussing with his hair in the mirror. ‘Rabastan would have torn him to shreds for it.’ 

He wasn’t wrong, Graham had to accept as he watched his own reflection in the mirror, eternally the pale shadow of his brother, lacking the presence of him or their late, now-ridiculed father. Rabastan had always felt so threatened by Randal, by his easy, forthright way with people, that anything which could undermine him and guarantee Rabastan’s supremacy in Slytherin House would have been leapt upon. As it was, the Sixth Years were too busy fighting amongst themselves over who would succeed Randal to even think of ousting him. 

But there was more to this than politics. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ 

Saul looked struck, as if he’d only just realised the political situation for Randal might have a personal touch for Graham. ‘I’m being an arse, aren’t I. I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to be casting aspersions against _you_. It’s just something of a shock to everyone. And it seems like something of a shock to _you_.’ 

‘If it’s true.’ Graham buttoned up his shirt to the throat, revelling in the sense of protection from the closeness. ‘An article published halfway through a mid-week publication of the _Prophet_ only days before his death? My father stood next to the Dark Lord since the beginning; _your_ father can confirm as much. I care more for the years of service than some vague, critical piece allegedly penned by him and emerging out of nowhere.’ 

‘It’s damned odd we hadn’t heard of it before,’ Saul agreed. ‘And nobody has any doubts about your family’s commitment to the Cause. I dare say this whole matter will blow over.’ 

Graham was hardly so convinced, but he knew Randal had the matter far more in hand than him, and so was happy to push it from his mind. There were other issues requiring his focus, such as the looming Quidditch match against Gryffindor. Not to mention the more pressing problems that needed to ‘blow over’: namely gathering storm clouds of this most rainy autumn, threatening a difficult and dangerous match. 

The sun fell much sooner these days, October dying in November’s name, and little light lingered in the sky when Graham and Saul made their way on Tuesday evening for the Astronomy Tower. ‘I don’t see how we’re supposed to have a lesson,’ Graham grumbled. ‘We can’t _see_ the stars.’ 

‘Of course not,’ said Saul, ‘but Sinistra needs us to show up so we can be told to go away, as if we’re incapable of judging the view for ourselves. Or she might set us some terribly dreary busy-work.’ 

‘We don’t need _evening_ lessons for that,’ Graham pointed out, and then came the flash of light out the gloomy window, and moments later the low rumble of rolling thunder. 

Saul peered out the window halfway up the winding stairway. ‘Good grief, it’s _chucking_ it down out there. I hope your beast is alright.’ 

Graham frowned. He hadn’t thought much about Kettleburn’s little shelter in these conditions, but Saul’s words made him consider a leaky roof, groaning timbers. He went to the window. 

‘I’m sure it’s _fine_ , I’m just teasing -’ 

Graham ignored him to wipe condensation away. Had night fallen fully, he wouldn’t have been able to see more than an inch beyond the glass; as it was, the gathering dusk still cast everything in a shade of dull grey of lashing rain and howling wind and the occasional crack of lightning. Which illuminated the silhouette of Kettleburn’s stable to the south, and the chunks of roof flying off it. 

‘Bloody hell!’ 

Saul was left shouting in confusion as Graham pelted down the stairs, but he didn’t stop. A roof blown off could mean many things; a freed animal, an _injured_ animal. The stable had stood sturdy for decades, surely, but the death of summer had been received with constant high winds, rains, storms; the _Prophet_ called it the worst autumn in history after the hottest summer in history. 

_You were a fool to think it safe. Is it ever safe?_  
  
He’d brought his heavy over-robes for standing out in an Astronomy class, but that did him little good when he sprinted out onto the grounds. His feet slid at once on slippery grass and muddy paths, the rain hurling itself into him like a barrier. Dusk threatened to fade away, and so he had to snap out his wand to get himself some light, the _Lumos_ dancing about like a wisp as his arms waved wildly to keep his balance. He was soaked to the bone within seconds, frozen and drenched and in danger of falling head-over-heels and breaking his fool neck as he took the slate steps down to the stable two at a time. As darkness tightened its grip on the grounds, choking out his senses, it became harder to know for sure that he was even heading in the right direction; he followed _a_ path, for certain, but where was the paddock and the shelter? 

Pinpricks of silver ahead shone like a beacon, and Graham surged onward to reach the paddock and find he wasn’t the only one there. It was easy to make out the silhouette of Kettleburn in the dim lighting, with his false legs and hooked hand. The professor held an iron grip on his wand, lashing out again and again to seize chunks of the building as the storm ripped them free, and guide them safely away without falling in to harm any animals, or come thudding into any wizards rushing to the rescue. 

‘I’ve got Hagrid hammering up something new to go on top!’ Kettleburn bellowed over the howling wind and lashing rain. ‘The animals can stand to get a bit wet! I’ll keep the roof off us all! But go help make sure they don’t break _free_ , it’s not _safe_ for them out here!’ 

_Help_? Graham thought, but there was only time to turn on the stable with its solid stone cornerstones and disintegrating roof, and lurch towards the flapping doorway. Another silhouette awaited him there, tall and sturdy and marching into the gloom of the stable alone, and when he caught up he was shocked to recognise the voice. 

‘What the bloody hell are you doing here, Mulciber?’ 

‘ _Hargreaves_?’ She looked more of a drowned rat than him, in her regular robes, sturdy boots the only surrender to the conditions. ‘You’re going to _freeze_ out here like this!’ 

‘Not yet!’ she yelled, and dragged open the flapping door. ‘Does the mad old bastard know what he’s doing, keeping the animals _in_ here?’ 

‘If they get out, some will eat each other! Trample each other! Run free, get lost, get _hurt_!’ He ran to help her with the heavy door, so wide it easily caught the wind and fought against them, and together they dragged it back with sheer, teeth-gritted force. ‘Kettleburn can hold the roof, and the _walls_ of this place are sturdy!’ 

‘We used to say that about the roof!’ she pointed out, but then they were inside, amid the baying and bellowing and hooting and stomping of the cacophanously terrified and furious animals. 

‘The stall doors are all magically protected, so they can’t just be _kicked_ open,’ Graham explained breathlessly. ‘Check them with magic, and reinforce them if they weaken! I’ll go to the far end and we’ll meet at the middle!’ 

He went to rush past her, but she grabbed his elbow. ‘Reinforce?’ 

Every time she’d had to ask him something thus far, something he took for granted about the everyday practicalities of animal care, he’d felt boiling resentment rush off her. But now there was none of that, no disgust at him or her for her ignorance. Only brisk, no-nonsense determination. 

‘ _Obfirmo_!’ Graham said, enunciating as clearly as he could in the howling wind. ‘Incant that if they’re weakening, it’s the charm to empower the pre-existing wards!’ 

‘Got it!’ She let him go, but dark eyes locked on him before he could turn away again. ‘Don’t let your bastard head get kicked off down there!’ 

Despite himself, he smirked. ‘You too.’ 

It was a race against the elements themselves, dashing to the far end of the barn and then yanking each door, checking it with might and magic and reinforcing where necessary. Some creatures huddled in their stalls and hid from the storm; others were squealing or braying, feet flying, desperate to escape. The roof peeled away above, bringing down lashing rain upon him - but not, at least, coming down itself on their heads, Kettleburn’s magics holding it steady. The howling wind almost drowned out Graham’s voice as he reinforced the enchantment on the stall to a pair of Nifflers, to a Diricawl hooting on its perch, to the fluttering Doxies - 

_Crunch_ \- 

The sound of Muirne’s stall being kicked open was like a fresh clap of thunder in his ear, but when he whirled he found he was further away than Hargreaves. He saw her lunge for the door, grab hold of solid wood, and then was thrown away to land hard on her back. 

The Granian burst into the barn like an escaping shadow, the only light the wild pinpricks of her wide eyes. Her neigh was more of a scream as she reared back, huge wings unfurling like they could shelter the barn from the rainstorm, but he was more worried about the flailing hooves. They could cave in a man’s skull, and Hargreaves was right under him. 

He ran. 

She rolled, swift and desperate, and the hooves came crashing down on the spot where her head had been a heartbeat ago. Muirne, panicked in the storm, reared up again, and Graham fumbled for his wand as Hargreaves tried to grab hold of something to haul herself away; knocked over a box of tools and stumbled - 

Then the halter he’d found flew across the distance, aided by his magic, to slip around Muirne’s head and secure itself, and he jerked his wand for the lead rope to hold her steady. ‘Easy, lass! Easy, now!’ He wasn’t entirely sure which he was talking to as he rushed to Hargreaves’ side, slowing before the agitated horse, and guiding the lead rope back. It tugged Muirne away, firm without yanking, and more importantly stopping her from crushing Hargreaves’ ribcage. ‘There’s a good lass!’ 

Muirne’s hooves crashed back to the floor and she tossed her head, but didn’t rear up again. Graham slid next to her, moving with that fluid step he’d learnt from years around horses, swift without being startling, and took hold of the lead rope just under her nose. The Granian’s ears twitched at his voice, but then they folded back and, though she hoofed at the ground, she didn’t resist as she was guided back into the stall. 

‘ _Obfirmo_!’ Then Graham turned to Hargreaves and extended his free hand. ‘Are you alright?’ Only now was he fully aware of his heart thudding in his chest, the rushing in his ears, the breath burning in his lungs; only now did he notice he’d bit his tongue, the taste of blood coppery in his mouth. Rain still lashed down from above, soaking them both, the heavens unleashing itself to crash down around them. 

Hargreaves scowled for a heartbeat, then reached up to grab his hand and let him help her up, even as she stared at him like he was insane, stood in all of this madness and chaos, alive. ‘Are there any more stalls?’ 

‘That was the last. They’re all secure. _Are you alright_?’ She gave a wordless nod, and he couldn’t help but grin. His head tilted back for the rain to thud down on his face, the baptismal rush of the storm and adrenaline and _life_ , and as he drew another breath full of the tang of lightning and the sweat of animal fear, he had to let it out in a low, rumbling laugh. ‘Good.’ 

‘You’re _mental_.’ 

And, like that, the rain stopped and the sparks of light in the sky went dull, but when Graham opened his eyes it was to see a huge tarpaulin settle down upon the open roof, and he watched as it secured itself. Hagrid had to be done with the shelter, and Kettleburn would be securing it outside. If properly enchanted, it should hold for a night. The animals were safe and the storm could rage on, taking its price in fear but not blood. It was over. 

He lowered his gaze to Hargreaves, soaking wet and shivering, even as she wore the flat expression of a woman who thought him a madman. But she rolled a shoulder. ‘Thanks. She would have trampled me.’ 

He made his smile soften. ‘I can hardly do this project alone.’ 

‘Yeah, but you still took a risk running to help. It’d fuck up Fletch’s numbers for Saturday if the Slytherin Seeker got himself whalloped to death by a flying donkey. She’d never forgive me.’ 

‘I imagine my brother would feel much the same about the effect on our prospects,’ he drawled, emboldened by his brush with storm and darkness. 

Her expression pinched in that way gazes always did when someone suspected he didn’t worship the very ground his brother walked upon, but then there came the _thud-thud_ of Kettleburn’s distinctive gait. ‘You’re alive! Good, I lost two students to a storm like this in ‘59. Got blown into the Forbidden Forest and took us two days to find ‘em. The animals are alive?’ 

‘Alive, _kicking_ , secure,’ said Hargreaves. 

‘Even better. Hagrid’s tarp will last for the night, we’ll worry about the _rest_ in the morning.’ He looked them up and down, craggy face folding. ‘I’d tell you to bugger off, but you might find your deaths out there.’ He stumped towards his office, a one-story annex off the barn with its own, lower roof and solid walls and a thick door. They followed him in to find it an utter mess, books and journals and equipment strewn about the floor, tables, chairs in a confined space, but it was secure and it was dry. ‘There’s blankets in that trunk,’ he grunted. ‘Whisky in that other one. Don’t touch it unless you think you deserve it tonight. Wood by the fireplace. Stay here until you want to go back. I’ll sign paperwork in the morning, clear it with your Houses so you don’t get in trouble.’ 

Kettleburn headed for a side-room, not looking at them, until Graham cleared his throat. ‘Uh, where are you going, Professor?’ 

‘To sleep. I’ve got a hammock in here. Bring a hammock with you everywhere. You can sleep anywhere with it.’ 

He shut the door behind him. Hargreaves stared, then said in a hushed voice, ‘How the fuck does he get into a hammock?’ 

Graham considered their teacher’s two fake legs and one fake arm and decided he didn’t want to think about it. ‘Grab a blanket, you look freezing. I’ll build a fire.’ He was already at the fireplace, picking up a log, before he hesitated. ‘Unless you want to troop back to the castle. I wouldn’t recommend it in this weather.’ 

‘Didn’t think running down here in this weather were a good idea neither.’ Hargreaves tossed her head, but grabbed two blankets from the trunk and kicked books to one side on a moth-eaten futon. ‘And don’t get all - I mean, you’re soaking, too.’ 

‘I am. I’ll be less soaking with a fire. _Ignito_ ,’ he muttered, and golden flames burst to life, starting to fill the room with warmth and light. He looked over at her at last, and frowned. ‘I shouldn’t get all what?’ 

While she smirked and laughed and swaggered, he’d noticed these past weeks how they were all obfuscations in her manner, evasions. This time he just got a blank look, and she gave that dismissive, one-shouldered shrug of hers. ‘Nothing.’ 

He didn’t push it, just went to the armchair next to the futon and took a blanket, drying his hair and face before he sat. ‘Storm shouldn’t be so bad in an hour or two. We can head back then.’ 

She grunted. ‘So much for the rest of the school helping. Think Kettleburn’ll give us extra marks for this?’ 

‘I imagine he’ll remember it.’ Fire was different in here, Graham thought as he watched the growing flames. Down in the Slytherin common room he’d have been surrounded by emerald hues, drawing warmth out of fireplace, out of sconces, even there. The warmth came from closeness, not _heat_. But this close, wooden room, steady against the raging storm outside, felt all the lighter, bathed in gold. ‘But we didn’t come down here for that.’ 

‘Maybe you didn’t,’ she muttered, but he could at least tell by now when she was being sardonic even without looking, and he gave a tight smile. The silence that followed was not absolute, the storm still howling outside, the fire spitting and cracking, but still he heard her sharp draw of breath. ‘Chivalrous.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘Before. I was going to tell you to not get all _chivalrous_. Catching Muirne. Fussing over me getting warm.’ 

He considered that a moment. ‘Why didn’t you?’ 

‘What? I _was_ getting -’ 

‘I mean, why didn’t you say it?’ 

He did look at her now, saw the flames cast golden hues on her dark skin, bring shadows to the furrow of her brow. For the first time, in the firelight, he could see the apprehension that glinted in her eyes with that particular narrowing of her gaze. ‘Wasn’t sure a Slytherin pure-blood gets chivalrous at a Mudblood.’ 

It was a test. Normally he would have ignored it, let her rant on or changed the subject, but he was cold and he was weary and they’d just run a gauntlet together. ‘Didn’t you read that paper? I’m not your _normal_ Slytherin.’ He had to sneer it. 

‘Is that why your brother’s the way he is?’ 

‘To make up for our father’s “failings”?’ He bit his lip, tasted the copper from before, the metal in his life-blood. ‘My father didn’t _fail_ anything.’ 

‘So it wasn’t true.’ 

‘It’s not like that. Why do _you_ care?’ 

The fire crackled and spat in the silence, and the warmth was turning from golden to harsh. She shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m wondering why you saved my neck.’ 

‘It’s not about - for my family, for my father, it’s not about hating people. It’s not about killing them, driving away. It’s about protecting our way of life, our traditions - look -’ He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders. ‘If I asked you about the religions of wizarding kind, the histories of them, you wouldn’t _know_. They don’t care about teaching you that, not properly. If I told you that my family worships the old gods and the old ways and _that_ is what we want to protect, then you’d…’ 

She filled the quiet of his uncertainty. ‘Ask why that means me and people like me have to die.’ 

‘They _don_ _’t_ ,’ Graham sighed, voice thick. ‘That was all my father was writing about. That the Knights of Walpurgis needed to _teach_ , to spread the word, to make sure our traditions didn’t get swept away. Not to _kill_ people. Don’t you see? Every time a Muggle-born Quidditch player gets famous, they’re talking in Witch Weekly about your Radio One and TV shows. Every politician favouring Muggle-borns steps up and talks about how we need to _integrate_ ; only it’s _not_ integration. It’s over-writing our ways, traditions which stood for centuries. And any time someone says they want to educate on the old religions, they want to respect the old traditions, they want to teach on these things, they get called a bigot.’ He tossed a hand in the air. ‘That’s all my father wrote. He spoke in favour of educating and preserving, not _attacking_.’ 

He didn’t know what he expected, but not for her to _laugh._ ‘What’s so funny?’ 

She did not reply at once, chuckling enough to double herself over, bundled up under her blanket. ‘I’m not sure,’ Hargreaves gasped at last. ‘Either that you _really believe_ your way of life’s the one in danger. Or that you believe it’s _not_ about hate.’ 

‘I don’t -’ 

‘So did your brother try to rape Mary Macdonald last year to _preserve your culture_?’ 

He flinched; he couldn’t help it. Everyone - other Slytherins, the teachers, even people who _hated_ them liked tip-toeing around the word, around the incident. Mostly by calling it an ‘incident,’ not thinking too hard about the particulars, just the consequences. Either in terms of fear or in terms of victory, but it left a shadow in the corners of his his mind every time Randal crowed about putting Muggle-borns in their _place_ , every time he heard his brother’s name mentioned in the same breath as Mary Macdonald. That knowledge in the darkness, screaming in his ears even if he couldn’t, _wouldn_ _’t_ look at it directly. ‘I don’t - he -’ Graham didn’t know what he was going to say, _trying_ to say, and he clutched his blanket around himself tighter. He’d expected Hargreaves to say something; interrupt, accuse him of defending his brother, get _angry_. She didn’t, and when he glanced over it was to find dark eyes locked on him, watching, _waiting_. Perhaps she would rip him to shreds; he found no pity there. Leaping to conclusions before he was forced to gather a response would, likely, have been kinder. 

Then his heart was thudding in his chest as loud as it had when the storm raged above him, and this time it wasn’t exhilarating, but exhausting. ‘What do you _want_ me to say?’ 

‘Not really about what I want.’ She sniffed. ‘Just was wondering what you _would_ say. I live with Fletch, I know bullshit when I see it.’ 

His jaw tightened. ‘And am I “bullshitting” you now, Hargreaves?’ 

‘In that you’re dodging the point.’ 

He made a low noise of frustration and looked away, staring at the fire. Now its golden flames were searing, not warming, too bright and too uncomfortable, and he found himself missing the common room’s shadows. But still he could hear the wind howling beyond these walls, and he was only just starting to get dry. The prospect of a long walk through rain and mud and darkness was one his body rebelled against, limbs seeming to shriek for him to not move _just yet_ \- 

‘How can I _like_ it? How can I _applaud_ it? All I want, Hargreaves, is to get through school and get a job and live my life. Not fight a war out there. Certainly not fight a war _in here_. But he’s my _brother_ \- look, do you have siblings?’ 

‘What, I couldn’t understand without siblings? Don’t you have a younger sister? What would you do if someone went after _her_ like your big brother went after Macdonald -’ 

‘You think I don’t _imagine_ that?’ Suddenly he was on his feet, blanket flapping behind him, veins fizzing anew with the copper in his mouth and it wasn’t weariness, it wasn’t the ecstasy of life that consumed him, but burning fury. ‘You think I’m not _terrified_ there’ll be retribution for what Randal does, not against him or me, but against _her_ ; some Muggle-born trying to tip the scales?’ 

‘I bet a lot of ugly things have happened in revenge, yeah.’ 

His lip curled. ‘Satisfied now, Hargreaves?’ 

She leaned back in her chair, blanket enfolding all of her except her long legs, stretching out before the fire. ‘Yeah,’ she said at last. ‘Not ‘cos you admitted you’d want to see your sister safe, that just makes you human.’ 

‘Then _what_?’ 

‘Your words.’ She watched the fire, eyes heavily lidded. ‘Even this angry, you didn’t say _Mudblood_.’ 

He’d used the word before, out loud and in his head. He wasn’t sure, as he stared at her, stretched out before the golden flames, why he hadn’t used it then in anger and in fear. His lips moved silently, rolling the word around his tongue, letting it rattle in his head, and while it didn’t sit heavily or guiltily, it didn’t come easily, either. ‘Why _do_ you care?’ said Graham, instead of contemplating that further. 

She shrugged. ‘You did save me from getting my stupid skull crushed.’ One eye popped open. ‘I’m sorry your brother’s an arsehole.’ 

It was sincere, not sardonic, and again it took the strength from him. He sagged back onto the armchair, let the blanket enfold itself around him with the warmth of the fire. ‘He’s still my brother.’ 

‘Family can suck beyond _belief_ and you still can’t turn away from them. I get it.’ She shifted her weight. ‘Can’t be easy with him captaining the Quidditch team, too.’ 

Graham gave a soft snort despite himself. ‘He’s harder on me than everyone else so nobody can accuse him of favouritism.’ 

‘I hear he pushes you hard.’ There was an odd note to her voice he couldn’t place now, a tension that wasn’t the hostility she’d shown him in the past. ‘Think that’ll help you on Saturday? Or you got other, secret plans?’ 

A smile curled the corner of his lip. ‘Oh, we have a secret plan on Saturday,’ he said. ‘It’s called _me_.’ 


	17. More Than One Day

**More Than One Day**

_I_ _’m gonna tell you how it’s gonna be._  
 _-_ _‘Not Fade Away,’ Buddy Holly (1957)_  


‘ _Quidditch day_!’

Dory, two beds over, rolled over and slammed her pillow over her head. ‘Mary, no. Please.’

It was seven in the morning on a Saturday, but the Gryffindor Chaser was still pouncing out of bed, louder and more punctual than any alarm clock. ‘It’s today! The match! The fate of _all houses_ -’

‘Two houses _at best_ , Mary,’ Dory groaned.

Mary, resplendent in flannel pyjamas adorned with tiny fluffy Scottie dogs, planted her hands on her hips and pouted in the middle of the dorm. ‘This isn’t being very supportive.’

Lily remained hidden under her blanket and hoped nobody would notice her, but Mary’s pout was too much for Dory to fight against. Dory slid out of bed, hands raised in apology. ‘Alright, alright. We’re all here for you, Mary. _Aren_ _’t_ we, Red?’

‘Don’t bring me into this, my dislike for Quidditch is _notorious_ \- _hey_!’ Lily failed to stifle a squawk as Dory grabbed a corner of the blankets and yanked them off the bed. ‘I could have been wearing anything under here!’

‘I see you go to bed _every night_ and also, I’m not that lucky,’ Dory drawled. ‘Come on. Kick-off is only in, oh, two hours.’

Lily sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘And why exactly do I need two hours to get ready to _watch_ a match?’

‘Two words.’ That was Tracy, also incapable of ignoring Mary’s exuberance, who’d got out of bed and had been rifling in her bedside table. Now she pulled out a wooden box and placed it on her bed, then flipped it open to show an array of face-paints and ribbons. ‘Team spirit.’

An hour later, Lily sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall with her arms folded across her chest. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Don’t you _dare_ wipe that face-paint off, Red,’ Dory warned, careful as she shovelled eggs in her mouth to try to avoid smearing her own carefully-drawn Gryffindor lions on her cheeks.

‘This was a violation,’ Lily grumbled. ‘I have been _ambushed_.’

‘With fun; I know. Try to not faint.’

Lily’s only consolation was that she wasn’t alone in her suffering. Dory, Tracy and Stacey had ambushed her while Mary kitted up, determined that none of them would leave the common room without full house pride on display. Her face had been painted red and gold, ribbons had been wound into her hair, and Dory had forced her into a Gryffindor scarf so long it had to be wound several times around her shoulders and still dangled. The other three were just as bad, and, thankfully, so was the rest of the _school_. Gryffindor’s table was a sea of the house colours, the Slytherins boasting a similar amount of silver and green, and as for the rest…

The rest were enough to make Lily wonder if this hadn’t become more than a Quidditch game after all. Every Muggle-born she knew on sight carried at least a small Gryffindor flag, but most were more ostentatious. They were joined by those like the McKinnons, Nathaniel’s friends, even Wick making a dignified gesture of deference with a red-and-gold silk scarf. Meanwhile, Travers and his friends sported Slytherin colours, and Lily’s heart sank when she saw how _few_ Hufflepuffs openly sided with Gryffindor.

This wasn’t just about a Quidditch match. This had become, with Potter’s frenzied pledges, a political statement.

‘Fine,’ she sniffed, then smiled and tossed her huge scarf yet again over her shoulder. ‘I’ll cheer. For Mary.’

Jack plonked himself down on the bench opposite. ‘Fucking hell, Lily, you look like a Christmas tree attacked you.’

She deflated. ‘There are many reasons I don’t usually join in with house pride. I don’t care about Quidditch, I don’t care a _lot_ about how _glorious_ Gryffindor is, and the colours really, _really_ clash with my hair.’

He’d coloured his hair half-and-half in Gryffindor hues, split down the middle, and it made this the one day nobody gave him a funny look for sitting at the Gryffindor table with them. ‘That last bit’s the most important, innit.’

‘Unfortunately yes.’

‘Hey! Gryffindors! Hey!’ There was the shout, the thudding of a fork against a goblet, and then Sirius Black bounced atop his bench further down the table. His robes had to be new, had to be specially made for the occasion; under no _normal_ circumstances would he wear patchwork clothes made up of hundreds of small squares of embroidered Gryffindor lions rearing and roaring over and over against a red background. It was a mesmerising loop of magical needlework, and enough to give her a headache if she stared at him for too long. ‘Listen up! Because today is _our day_ , right! Today’s the day we’re going to _roar on_ our team to _kick_ the snakes!’

‘Mister Black!’ came Abernathy’s indignant voice from the top table. ‘You will sit down this -’ And then McGonagall swept in next to him to discuss something seemingly _very_ important, and his objection went unfinished.

It also went, unsurprisingly, ignored. ‘We have the best team in years! The best _Captain_ in years!’ Black clapped Potter, sat next to him and looking actually a bit embarrassed, on the back. ‘And we have a _reason_ to win! Come on, James, you’ve got to have something to say!’

The table burst into encouraging hoots. Lily watched as, awkwardly, Potter got to his feet. He did not join Black on the bench, but even smaller he still got everyone to shut up at once as he raised his hands. His smile was tense - nervous, she figured - and his voice firm, serious. ‘I know you’ll have our backs. And so I know we can win this. _Will_ win this. Not just for Gryffindor House; for _Hogwarts_.’

Another roar went up, and that seemed enough to end breakfast and trigger the mass exodus down to the pitch. The swirling mass of Gryffindors poured the team, assembled around Potter and his friends, down towards the door, and Lily found herself standing just as he got there. The surprise on his face at her attire was endless, but then came his customary smirk. ‘ _Evans_! You’re here to cheer me on?’

And like that, he was the obnoxious prick again. Still, she couldn’t ignore all she’d seen that morning, and wound the scarf yet _again_ over a shoulder. ‘Here to cheer you _all_ on, Potter, but of course you’d make _something_ here all about you.’ She let the corner of her lip curled. ‘You know you’re better than them. Give them hell.’

His smirk faded for a _beam_ \- not a smug smile or his usual swaggering posturing, but a genuine grin that split his face and lit up his eyes, and she had to wonder if _this_ was what his friends, the rest of the team, the rest of the _school_ saw. Not ego and avarice, but bouncing, blinding optimism. And then he looked past her, and it all faded for a scowl. ‘Scuse me.’

She hadn’t imagined anything under the sun would stop Potter milking her genuine compliment, but she turned to see something far darker. The Slytherins were on the move, too, Randal Mulciber at the head as the two groups converged near the doors. With Potter lingering before her it was the rest of the Gryffindor team the Slytherins walked up to - Cresswell, looking pale and nervous and like he might be sick, Shacklebolt far too _short_ to do anything, and Mary.

Mary, who looked like she might sooner evaporate than stand her ground against Randal Mulciber.

He advanced on her with his most charming smile that never reached his eyes, sticking out a hand in a courteous manner. ‘Gryffindors; I’m looking forward to a good match up close and personal with you _all_ -’

Then Potter was there, in between Mulciber and his team, and he did not lift his hand. ‘There’ll be time for gentlemanly handshakes before the match. We don’t have to pretend up here, Mulciber.’

Mulciber clicked his tongue, bobbing his head. ‘As you say,’ he mused, before leaning in and saying something to Potter that neither Lily nor, it seemed, anyone else near him could hear over the hubbub of the crowds swirling together. But it made Potter’s fists clench and his jaw tighten, and he was frozen for long, thudding heartbeats before Mulciber smirked, gestured to his team, and swaggered out the door.

‘Oh _good_.’ That was Wick, appearing next to them as the crowds conjoined even more. ‘It’s going to be a merry day of good sportsmanship.’

Lily grinned up at him, reaching out to tug his scarf. ‘Don’t you even _try_ to pretend you’re neutral and above it all.’

‘Above it all? I’m hoping Potter turns him into a slug; it should be a simple spell for someone that good at Transfiguration to revert Mulciber to his _original_ form, after all.’

She stepped and had only given him a peck on the lips before there was a noise of disgust from Dory, stood behind them with Jack. ‘Blegh, _feelings_.’

‘I’m going to shove you out of the stands,’ Lily promised.

They all wandered down with the main crowd, the usual division of houses on different stands abandoned today. They ended up split instead by supporters, the neutrals dotting themselves wherever was deemed safest instead of drawing attention to their refusal to commit. It made it even clearer, as Lily and her friends settled in the midst of the Gryffindor supporters, how the school was split terrifyingly close to down the middle once everything had been politicised. The atmosphere was different; there was always _tension_ before a game against Slytherin, but today there was almost none of the naive good humour of a silly little sports game. Everyone was either deathly serious in their exuberant yelling for their side, or deathly serious in their silent watching.

‘Bets! Last chance for bets!’

Lily looked around to see Fletch making her judicious way about the stands, calling out in a low hiss so no teachers caught track of what she was doing. She waved her over. ‘What’re the odds?’

Fletch slid between two Gryffindor Fifth Years to slink to the row behind them. ‘Three to four for Slytherin to win, fifteen to four for Gryffindor win.’

‘ _Fifteen to_ -’

Fletch shrugged. ‘Potter’s an unproven captain and hasn’t changed much of his lineup, while Mulciber’s mostly got the same team who won the Cup last year. Sorry, Evans, your lot are the underdogs. Doesn’t everyone love an underdog story? Now, what’s the bet?’

‘Oh, I wasn’t betting. I just wanted to know what odds you were putting on it.’

Fletch looked put out until Wick sighed and reached inside his robes. ‘Five sickles on Gryffindor winning - but Graham Mulciber gets the Snitch.’

‘Not that unpopular a bet.’ Fletch took the money and scribbled something down on a notepad. ‘People like gambling with their hearts only so far when it comes to the Seekers.’

‘Cresswell looked like he was going to throw up from nerves at breakfast,’ Dory sighed, then pulled out a knut. ‘I’ll place a bet. One knut. Draw.’

Fletch gave her a flat look - then shrugged and took the coin. ‘It’s _your_ money to piss away.’

Dory was giggling when Fletch left, carrying on with those last-minute bets amongst the exuberant crowd now too excitable to think better than to bet. ‘She’s going to take _such a kicking_ in the moneybox when Gryffindor wins.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jack, voice tense. ‘Bookies don’t take sides.’

She thwacked him on the arm. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport. Literally. You are _spoiling_ the sport.’

‘I don’t even care about Quidditch.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Lily, voice low as she watched the crowd, the tension and hubbub a steady throb by now, like a pulse of the lifeblood of the gathered students. ‘But I think today’s going to be important.’

‘ _And - here - they - come_!’ Black’s booming voice bounced around the stand, and Lily suppressed a groan. Of _course_ he was commenting again. ‘ _For the first match of the season, the_ biggest _match of the year, put your hands together, people, for_ Gryffindor _! I give you Potter! Macdonald! Shacklebolt! Miller, Booth, Kendricks, aaaand_ Cresswell!’

Half the stadium rose to their feet, hands thudding together and cheering, and Lily found herself catapulted up with them. Not by force, but emotion, the rising tide of enthusiasm and optimism as the seven small shapes came jogging out onto the pitch below, brooms slung over shoulders. She could see Mary and Shacklebolt waving clenched fists at the sky as they flanked Potter, who just trooped with dogged determination for the middle. On past games he’d come out already flying, doing laps of the crowd, acrobatics to whoops and adulation. Today there was none of that.

But Lily didn’t have long to consider this before Black was speaking again, up on the main stand near the teachers, flanked by McGonagall and a Gryffindor regalia-bedecked Marlene, Remus and Pettigrew on the other side of her. Black had, astonishingly, a good track record of being impartial enough for a biased commentator, but usually because a game was just a game and while he loved Gryffindor dearly, he also loved taking the piss out of his friends. But today she could hear the grate in his voice when he spoke on.

‘ _And! I give you! Slytherin_!’

§

‘Remember; keep your cool, and you’ll get them -’

‘I know what I’m doing, Saul.’ Graham didn’t mean to snap, but this was the fourth time his best friend had given him ‘helpful’ advice on the walk down to the pitch alone. ‘Worry about the rest of the team.’

‘We won’t worry,’ came his brother’s booming voice from the head of the procession. He was leading what felt like the whole house, supporters trailing after the team, down the long, sunlit path to the pitch. ‘Because we have our plan.’

It _was_ a good plan. Slytherin Chasers were good enough to bet on against Gryffindor, even if their opponents would fly differently with Potter calling the shots instead of Podmore. And Graham knew he could beat Cresswell even on a bad day. So the only question became the Beaters, and Rosier and Wilkes were set to focus entirely on keeping Bludgers away from the Seekers. If they had breathing room they were to send something at Shacklebolt, their opponents’ weak link on the Chasers, but other than that they were to let the two sides fly on their own merits.

There was more; Chasers knowing who to mark and who to block and plays planned out with Randal, as Keeper, directing them, but that wasn’t Graham’s concern. All he had to do was fly. The rest would come easily.

‘Yes,’ Saul said smugly, as if he’d cooked up the plan himself. ‘A very good plan. We’ll counter them nicely.’

Graham made a habit of not getting too involved in Saul’s habit of living vicariously through the team, so said nothing as they walked, just kept his gaze on the skies. They were clear and bright, brilliant weather for flying, and he liked that not at all. Weather made everything more interesting, more intense; made the crowd disappear and the world narrow to him, his broom, his rival, his target. Rivals didn’t usually cope with rain, and nor did most everyone else on the team, but harsh climes in the face of opposition was where, as his brother put it, Mulcibers thrived.

Then his brother was next to him, dropping back to plant a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re ready?’

He thought of the seas of green against red, the difference in the atmosphere - the difference in his brother, in Potter. It went unspoken amongst the Slytherins, but this match had gone somewhere different, and Graham had no idea when that had come about. So it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he flew. ‘I’m always ready for a game.’

‘They’ll be gunning for you, hard. They know you’re better than Cresswell.’

‘I’ll spook him early,’ said Graham, shrugging. ‘He’ll go to pieces.’

‘Knock him down?’

‘Put him through his paces. Lead him on a chase. He’ll follow me like a puppy if he thinks I’ve seen the Snitch, and I _will_ out-fly him.’

Randal smiled that broad, warm smile of his. ‘Good lad. We’re counting on you.’

‘I think, in truth, we’re counting on _you_.’ Graham looked up at him. ‘It won’t be enough for me to get the Snitch. They have to see you _dominate_ them.’

He didn’t know if he was giving advice or a warning; didn’t know what he wanted to see his brother do. He’d seen the people outside of Gryffindor wearing the gold-and-red; Karen Richmond and Bertram Aubrey and even Sharon Bane, glaring at her neutrally-clad brother. Not to mention the discreet, but notable badge of a lion on Hargreaves’ jacket. She’d not made eye contact as the Slytherins passed the Ravenclaw table on the way down. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to.

_Why would she cheer you?_

He was used to being celebrated for his achievements. A victory for Slytherin used to mean house pride, and it meant proving himself _better_ than his opponent. Not morally or spiritually; but physically, in resolve and in competence. He didn’t think himself smarter than the other Seekers, but he knew he was a better Seeker. That was supposed to be all that mattered.

It was not all that mattered today.

So he kept his head down and his expression neutral as the team broke off from the procession to the pitch itself, giving only Saul a nod as they left. The Carrows were crowing to each other about the enemy team as they waited, about marauding Macdonald on the pitch, until Randal gave them a cold look and told them to play to _win_ , not amuse themselves. Graham tasted bile in his mouth, unsure if this was strategy or some macabre protectiveness of his brother’s plaything.

‘We’ll be on the pitch in a moment,’ said Randal, voice that low, calm rumble which drew everyone’s attention. ‘You know the stakes for today. We play not just for the house’s glory, but _our_ glory, our people’s glory. People are stood behind us today as a symbol. A blow against our opponents will show them how they cannot endure or prevail in _anything_. We will grind them underfoot and we will be _cheered_ as we break Potter’s motley crew of mongrels and traitors.’

_So you_ _’re not being subtle today, big brother._  
  
‘I know you can do it. Do not disappoint me.’

James Potter probably didn’t end his pep-talks with an implied threat, unless the threat was that he might short sheet his players’ beds if they didn’t play hard enough. But while the level of vitriol was unusual, the sentiment was not, and Graham answered it how he always did: with a blank expression and nod, and by letting his mind turn inward, away from the jeers of the Carrows, the chortles of Rosier and Wilkes, even the quiet, superior sneer of Regulus Black.

_Ignore the calls of lesser men, and their frantic scrambling for superiority, for_ _“proof”. Faith in yourself, your heart, limb, sinew, is all you need - and faith that those above will reward you for it_. It had been so long since he’d thought of his father, stood with him at the runestones near home, telling him all the lessons that Randal seemed to forget. _Find your own path. Prove your own strength. Accept the world for all its strangeness and trickery, and seek always understanding._ Randal had only ever cared about their faith’s talk of war and ruling, even when their father had told them so much different.

But their father was now ridiculed in the halls in hushed whispers as a traitor, and Graham had gone away inside against _that_ , too -

Then the doors from under the stand were shoved open, and out they marched, falling into formation behind Randal, into the bright sunshine of the roar of the crowd which was, in itself, almost enough to stagger him. Heart thudding, not from apprehension of the match but the words echoing in his ears and all he’d turned away from, Graham let himself fall into step at the back.

The cheers of the crowd rushed away, a dull constant at the back of his thoughts. The Gryffindor team rushed away, soft and out of focus except for the pale shape of Cresswell, weak, doubting, no obstacle at all, no _threat_ at all, fearful of tumbling upward and away. Even his own side became irrelevant, his brother’s lumbering gait as he leaned in towards Potter at the handshake and tried to intimidate only to get a flint-eyed stare back -

\- there, perhaps, was a worthwhile opponent, but not _his_ -

\- then the releasing of the balls, the Bludgers rocketing off like chaos incarnate, beyond all harnessing or command, and the streak of gold of his prey flicking across his vision before vanishing -

\- never forever, always to be found, hunted, pulsing and wriggling within his grasp -

\- and then his broom, sturdy beneath him, and the _whistle_ and launch, the surging leap to the air, unshackling from the ground and its meagre bonds with its petty desires and politics and roaring crowd thudding and baying not for victory, but _blood_ -

\- and into the endless sky.

§

‘And it _begins_ -’ Except the moment the whistle went, Marlene grabbed Sirius’ arm hard enough to yank the megaphone away from his mouth. She let go at once, looking abashed, but it was still enough to distract him, and then the players were in the air, and the Quaffle swooping between them.

‘Sorry!’ she hissed, but he didn’t have time to answer.

‘…and it’s _Potter_ , Potter with the Quaffle first, ducking under Carrow - Alecto - for a swift pass to Shacklebolt - Amycus too slow for the interception, and Shacklebolt’s racing up the right wing. Is this an aggressive, early start for Gryffindor? Or not! Shacklebolt passes _back_ , back to Macdonald, and it looks like Gryffindor are just trying to set the pace, keep possession! Macdonald’s coming dead up the centre, not a Bludger in sight around the Chasers! Beaters are higher up, Booth sending one at Mulciber - Graham - who’s dodging it and, really, Slytherin need to stop having siblings on the same team, it’s -’

Despite himself, Sirius grinned at a sudden flash of green amid the swishing red and gold of the Gryffindor team. ‘Speaking of siblings, it’s _Black_ , nice tackle against Macdonald, with possession of the Quaffle and he’s _away_ , breaking past the line of Gryffindor Chasers! Macdonald’s hot on his heels but there’s nobody between him and Gryffindor Keeper Kendricks! Black’s ducking low, looks like he’s going for the right ring, but - nope, Quaffle’s going for the left and - Kendricks _saves_!’

It was hard to not sound relieved, even if he wouldn’t begrudge his brother the opening goal. But Kendricks, small for a Keeper, was quick, jerking away from Regulus’ feint to snatch the Quaffle out of the air, and almost at once hurl it for Kingsley Shacklebolt, back on the right wing.

Sirius let out a slow breath, and raised the megaphone again. ‘And it’s Shacklebolt, Shacklebolt moving up the right - and I’ve got to say, that was a _good_ game from Slytherin. Macdonald’s usually a playmaker, not a threat, quick on the passes, but she looked unexpectedly headed for the goal and they locked her down _quick_.’

_Unexpected_. Except it wasn’t unexpected, was it? Not by people who knew Gryffindor’s tactics, because James was shaking up the Chasers a bit, breaking away from the tried-and-failed methods of Sturgis Podmore. Mary was quick and nimble and usually great to run rings around her opponents, so he’d had her feeding the Quaffle back and forth for heavier strikers like James. James would never take Kingsley off the wings, he was born for that kind of play, but he’d wanted himself dealing with the Slytherin Chasers while Mary made a legitimate play for the hoops.

Slytherin should have been marking James and Kingsley harder, but they hadn’t; they’d sent Regulus right for Mary, almost like they’d seen it coming. Almost like -

The crowd _roared_ to its feet, jerking Sirius from his reverie. ‘Goal! Goal for Gryffindor, Shacklebolt with a superb cross for Potter in the middle, and Alecto _just too slow_ to intercept, Mulciber on the right hoop and Potter plants it _dead centre_! 10-0 to Gryffindor!’

That hadn’t been a clever tactic, just the right players in the right places with the right skills. James didn’t showboat it; one quick loop towards the centre with a raised fist to his fans was enough, far less pomp and circumstance than he’d usually show off, and Sirius’ gut twisted tighter with that. Last year, if he’d taken the first goal in the first match of the whole season, there’d have been a whole celebration. This was different. This match was serious.

He lowered the megaphone, reached to find Marlene’s hand on his arm and squeezed it. ‘Oh, shit,’ he breathed.

She leaned in, voice low, concerned. ‘What is it?’

‘I just realised,’ groaned Sirius. ‘James is going to kill himself trying to win this, isn’t he.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Remus, stood beyond Marlene, but he looked worn, tired.

‘He’s always like this,’ Peter agreed.

_Not like this_ , Sirius thought, because he knew James better than anyone, and could almost feel the tension rippling off him in waves enough to disrupt the whole match. But then the cheering was dying down and the Quaffle was kicked off again, and it went onward, ever onward, into hell.

§

‘Oh, _shit_!’ Dory rocked back on the bench, and grabbed Lily’s arm. ‘Come on Mary! Jesus, they are _all over_ them like a bad rash.’

Lily didn’t know Quidditch, but she knew sports, and she couldn’t disagree. Everywhere the Gryffindor Chasers tried to be, Slytherin was there first. Sticking Amycus Carrow on Mary hadn’t seemed like the best idea to Lily, but it was working out unhappily well; she could outpace him, but if he closed, his bulk and strength kept her pinned down, putting her on the run all the time. Potter could out-play Alecto, but Regulus Black was just _dangerous_ , quick enough to make a stab at blocking Kingsley’s passes and then make his own plays.

‘…and that’s _Carrow_! Alecto Carrow, scoring for Slytherin, bringing the teams even at 60-60!’ Sirius Black’s voice boomed across the arena. Somewhere early on he’d lost his usual, jubilant nerve, like even he had figured out how high the stakes were. ‘It’s _neck-and-neck_ here today; Slytherin are tactically _dominating_ this pitch, and it’s only Gryffindor’s pace that’s keeping them in this game.’

‘Where’s the fuckin’ Bludgers!’ Jack roared at the upper echelons of the pitch. ‘Booth, Miller, you useless shitbags, _hit the fuckin_ _’ Chasers_!’

‘They’re trying to keep at least a Bludger on Graham Mulciber’s arse at all times,’ groaned Lily. ‘And I can’t blame them; this is going to come down to the Snitch at this rate.’

‘No, see, Slytherin are going to tire if they keep this up,’ said Wick. He’d kept mostly quiet, only cheering with the crowds. ‘They’re playing a thoroughly physical game, and they’re mostly chasing Gryffindor, and Gryffindor are _still_ snatching goals. If the Seekers can be kept off the Snitch long enough, I anticipate Slytherin will start to flag; Gryffindor has the better Chasers and it’ll show.’

‘But Gryffindor are trying to outpace -’ She stopped, frowning. ‘Huh. You’re right. Broomsticks don’t tire. Gryffindor can keep a speed-game up far longer than if this was football.’

‘Or polo. Even the horses flag.’

She had to give him a wry, side-long look at that. ‘You play _polo_ -’

‘Oh, you know, only when it’s not a fine day for cucumber sandwiches on the lawn and a spot of gentle croquet -’

‘ _What the fuckin_ _’ fuck was that, ref? Are you blind! Are you a blind piece of shit_ -’

‘You can always tell a Millwall fan,’ Lily drawled as Jack lunged to his feet, shaking his fist at Kingsley pulling himself out of a particularly brutal tackle from Regulus Black. ‘Sit _down_ , Jack.’

‘He got the Quaffle first,’ Dory agreed. ‘It was rough, but a fair tackle, and look, Mary got it back and - _what the hell, referee_!’

Amycus Carrow had dropped on Mary like a stone, thudding into her before snatching the Quaffle. Dory lunged to her feet, half-dragging Lily up with her as Mary rocked on her broom and almost fell, but with one hand she righted herself. The boos of the crowd turned to cheers at this, and then mingled further as _this_ brought a blow of the whistle from Madam Hooch.

‘ _Penalty_!’ came Sirius Black’s call. ‘Penalty for Gryffindor for a _vicious_ tackle on Macdonald by Carrow the Amycus, and rightly so; looks like Slytherin are getting impatient trying to clamp down on…’

Lily stopped listening to Black’s tirade, or even watching the Chasers as they swept around for a penalty. Randal Mulciber sat high on his broom before the hoops, ignoring the preparation for the set-piece and yelling instructions at his team. There was no frustration visible, nor any sign of reprimand, and she couldn’t hear him from here. But from the gestures, the set of his jaw, the message was clear: _keep at it. Keep control._

‘Looks like it’s Potter for the penalty,’ said Sirius. ‘So it’s captain against captain in the first set-piece of the match, and there’s no denying we’re looking at the two _architects_ of this game facing off. Slytherin have a very tactical game, so you can see Randal Mulciber’s hand in that, but Gryffindor have been doing _supremely_ well with the improvisation, adapting and shaking it up, and that’s Potter’s leadership in the field…’

Again she tuned out, watching the streak of red and gold that was James Potter move up for position before the hoops. Despite it all, she found herself clutching both Dory and Wick’s arms, gaze locked on the two players who were, at this distance, just silhouettes. She didn’t need to be closer to see the tension between them both, straight lines running up their spine and then jagging off to link them together, _tie_ them together. Captain against captain, cause against cause.

‘Come _on_ , Potter,’ she hissed, and even that whisper felt too loud, a shout in the sudden hush that had fallen over the pitch.

They hung in the air like kestrels hovering before a swoop, or perhaps Mulciber was some looming buzzard, bigger and broader than Potter. But neither moved, the Quaffle clasped in Potter’s hands, all eyes on the pitch locked on the ball. Except for the two themselves; even from here, Lily could tell they were watching each other. Next to her, Dory literally held her breath and was starting to go a bit pink; Jack was poised in a quivering ball of preemptive indignation.

A swoop from Potter, a kick, a lunge, the Quaffle shooting for the left-most post, Sirius Black’s voice booming out in excitement to match the whole arena’s as Mulciber lunged, hand outstretched, and he couldn’t be close enough, couldn’t be fast enough -

_Thud_ -

\- and the Quaffle, deflected by Mulciber’s fingertips, cracked into the metal ring to bounce back.

‘ _Shit_!’ Lily roared, lunging to her feet as the Slytherins’ side of the stands burst into jeering cheers. Dory had buried her face in her hands, Jack was still bellowing obscenities, but the Quaffle was snatched up by Mulciber before it could get too far, passed to Regulus Black, and the game went on.

§

Fletch doubled over, head between her knees. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she croaked as the match thundered on above and around her.

Hargreaves extended a paper bag. ‘Peanut?’

‘I _said_ I’m going to be _sick_ -’

‘You’re not,’ said Cecil, elbowing her cheerfully. ‘The match isn’t done yet.’

‘And they’re _neck and neck_.’ She looked up, bleary-eyed, just in time to see Macdonald swoop under one of Black’s attempted tackles, racing towards the Slytherin hoops with only Mulciber in her way now. ‘This shouldn’t be happening. When did Gryffindor get this _good_?’

Hargreaves munched on a peanut. ‘When they got rid of Podmore? Kendricks is a _much_ better Keeper than I expected.’

Fletch clutched her sleeve. ‘If Gryffindor win, I am going to be _so poor_ , Hargreaves. _So many people_ have bet on Gryffindor, despite the odds, despite Slytherin being the favourites. Thank _Merlin_ the Slytherins like making ostentatious bets for their own side, but it’s still going to be gruesome. This is insane.’

‘That’s what happens when Potter turns all idealistic.’

‘Look,’ said Cecil, unperturbed, ‘the match isn’t over yet. And you can make it up in future games now you know how to calculate the odds better for Gryffindor. A sixty-seventy percent victory chance for Slytherin wasn’t unreasonable going in; that they’re neck-and-neck right now is _unfortunate_ -’

‘ _Goal_!’ roared Sirius. ‘Goal by Shacklebolt! That’s Gryffindor 210, Slytherin 190!’

Cecil winced. ‘…but the Snitch is still out there.’

‘Slytherin are flagging,’ Fletch whimpered. ‘Gryffindor are making them work hard to keep on top of them and they’re _still_ ahead. They can’t keep this up much longer. _How did this happen?_ ’

It wasn’t even the Slytherins’ _fault_. Gryffindor had started out playing exactly as Sirius had said, and all the information she’d fed to Avery had obviously made it as far as Mulciber. The Slytherin Chasers anticipated their moves, their tactics, and crawled all over them for the first half-hour of the match. But it was two hours later, now, and Gryffindor were adapting, changing up their play mid-match in a way Podmore had _never_ managed to do as captain. Potter was wilier than she’d given him credit for. She’d set long odds against a Gryffindor victory because she was so certain Slytherin would _win_ , rigging the match and all, and this way she could minimise the pay-outs.

And yet, even with Slytherin outright cheating, Potter was _still_ snatching a lead.

‘Your boy better get the Snitch,’ she muttered to Hargreaves. ‘Or I’m going to vomit on your boots.’

‘Then I will kick you with my vomit-stained boots,’ came the calm reply. ‘And he’s not _my boy_.’

‘He better be. Make him your boy. You have my permission to fuck him if he wins this match.’ Fletch chewed on her thumbnail, half-mad with panic. ‘Maybe you could tell him that, now, give him a bit of motivation. Flash him your tits.’

Smirking, Hargreaves elbowed her. ‘Calm _down_.’

‘I will not; if I lose money it’s coming out of everyone’s Christmas present fund.’

Cecil blinked. ‘Shit. Maybe you _should_ get your tits out for Mulciber. I don’t want to get coal in my stocking.’

‘I don’t get topless for racists; I’m funny with standards that way.’

‘And _yet_ you spend a _mysterious evening_ down in the stables with him,’ muttered Fletch, because mockery was an easy distraction.

‘It was the _storm_ ; ugh -’

And then one of the two dots up high, the Seekers in their long, psychological war for the Snitch, dropped like a stone. It took seconds before the other noticed; long, thudding seconds which Fletch knew could be the difference between victory or defeat, and again she clutched at Hargreaves. ‘He’s moving! _He_ _’s moving_!’

‘And that’s a Seeker on the move!’ boomed Sirius. ‘It’s - yes, it _is_ , it’s _Cresswell_ , and he’s seen it! The Snitch! Down near the Gryffindor hoops, and he’s _on the move_ with Mulciber a good _twenty feet_ behind him!’

Fletch _screamed_.

§

‘ _You_ _’re going home in a plastic body-bag!_ Ooh, snacks -’ Jack was having the time of his life. Little as he cared for Quidditch, he liked crowds, he liked competitions, and he liked jeering at Slytherins. Even better, in long matches like this the school had snacks brought up for the spectators, and now hovering little trays of sandwiches bobbed their way up and down the lines. Ham, salmon, _beef_ -

‘ _Cresswell_ _’s going for the Snitch_!’ Dory shrieked, and as one the Gryffindor stand lunged to its feet. Her shoulder smacked into the hovering tray, sending sandwiches flying.

‘ _Shit_!’

§

The Gryffindor Beaters had been on him all morning, sending their Bludgers like a huntsman sent his hounds. But Graham was the fox, wily and swift, able to tangle Potter’s brutes in knots and divert them enough that they were no use protecting their own Keeper, either. Not that young Kendricks needed it; Graham noted with grim amusement that Gryffindor’s newest player had put his whole heart into the game, and it was enough to make Slytherin bleed. They were not accustomed enough to bleeding. Perhaps it would do them some good.

It left him feeling almost sorry for Cresswell. Over the hours, he’d had a good measure for his opponent, and deemed the boy outclassed. Graham was stronger, faster, with better eyes and swifter hands, and Cresswell too nervous. Even Graham’s clumsiest feints and dives to test his opponent’s nerves had Cresswell falling for it, and so Graham had been able to lead him, too, on a merry chase in a circuit around the pitch, over and over. Cresswell by now didn’t know what was truth and what was lie, and Graham only had to jerk his broom in a direction to have his opponent follow like a puppy.

But these long hours were irrelevant. Whispers in the wind, calms before storms; the scent of roast meat before the dinner itself. A promise and a kiss; nothing more. What mattered was the moment. And while Graham pitied Cresswell, pitied that he had become a focal point of hopes and dreams that stretched far, far beyond Quidditch - while Graham resented that this game, this contest had been turned into something else - he knew he would not hold back. When it came to action, there was no choice. Only the contest.

So when Cresswell dived, intent quivering his muscles and speeding his broom, Graham almost laughed. This was the exquisite nature of the game; that Cresswell could be so outmatched and still, the right eyes at the right time and the right reactions could make all of it so _meaningless_. It was why Graham had never wanted any position but Seeker.

But a Seeker he was, and so when Cresswell fell, Graham fell with him.

Cresswell’s was a powered descent, the broom ploughing him at an angle; Graham simply killed all power on his broom and let gravity take them both. The air grew still for a moment, so high he could barely hear the cheers from the stands, the wind no longer rushing as he slowed, stopped - and fell.

Fell into the chaos and cheering and desperation, fell like a stone to be claimed once again by the ground to which blood and bone would inevitably return. Up high, he had been beyond it all, but diving within earshot of the crowd and players was like diving into a pool of their hopes and dreams and fears, even if the game itself had grown still with Cresswell’s charge.

Cresswell, who was still ahead of him, Cresswell who drew closer every second to the glint of gold that was the Snitch near the Gryffindor hoops. His controlled descent meant Graham’s dead fall was catching up, foot by foot, but if the Snitch didn’t move, he’d never close the distance in time.

Then it did move, sparkling gold shooting towards the ground, and Graham gave a gleam of a smile as Cresswell bent lower over his broom and continued steering after it. Graham just kept falling. Falling, closer and closer to the ground, and the Snitch was shooting only feet from the surface now, skidding away. Ahead of Graham, Cresswell yanked up the nose of his broom, trying to level out before he could chase, and Graham’s smile widened. It was the safe move, maybe even the smart move.

But it was the slow move.

Graham did not level out his broom, thundering for the Snitch at barely better than a right angle to the ground, drawing nearer, nearer, closing the gap while Cresswell struggled to compete _and_ be safe, and how could he be _safe_ when there was victory, when he had to prove himself _better._ The distance closed, the Seekers nearer to the Snitch, nearer to each other, and he just about began to level out, curve in his swoop to no plough straight into the ground, but still fast, hurtling for Cresswell -

Then Graham was ahead, on top of the flickering gold they chased, and his right hand snatched out, grasping for air, for victory, for success -

The nose of his broom clipped the ground, pulled up far too late, coming in at far too high a speed, and the handle flipped. There was nothing to be done, then; no trick, no acrobatics, just a surrender to air and gravity, and the world span around Graham, over and over before he hit the ground. The impact was more than enough to knock the breath out of him, and he felt something inside _crack_ before he rolled, thudding on the ground, each impact breathless agony before, at last, he came to a halt.

And lay there, chest heaving in pain, flat on his back with the stadium stretching up before him to the peerless sky. No more was he bathed in the cheers and hopes and dreams of the crowd, for all had gone silent, hushed, like the world held its breath.

Then one voice, Sirius Black ringing with tension. ‘And he’s - Mulciber’s down, but I don’t see the Snitch! Cresswell’s rising and shaking his head; he doesn’t have it either! Did it get away, did Mulciber take himself out - uh, he’s not getting up again…’

_…uncompromising and uncontained; may I persevere, unrepressed, in adversity…_  
  
Thudding footsteps, desperate pants for breath, and a shadow fell over him. It was, to his surprise, Potter, first to get to him, on his hands and knees. ‘Merlin, Mulciber, try to _not_ be dead, that was a hell of a piece of flying…’

‘ _Graham_!’

He hadn’t heard that note in Randal’s voice in a long time; strain and fear and concern, and it almost, _almost_ made him laugh - but laughing would hurt. His brother appeared over him, and he just gave him a bleary look, a weak smile. ‘I’m alright, Randal. I’m alright. And, sorry, Potter.’ His right hand hurt as he lifted it, but now the Snitch’s wings unfurled for the tiny ball to beat against his desperate, pained grip.

‘I didn’t die. I won.’


	18. Landslide

_Can the child within my heart rise above?_  
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?  
Can I handle the seasons of my life?  
 _\- ‘Landslide,’ Fleetwood Mac (1975)_

The first time he woke it was to surge from dark into light. But the dark had been quiet, peaceful, and the light was full of sound and fuss, voices and worry. It was also full of pain; no longer the blaze of impact against the pitch, but a dull ache he knew meant the worst was behind him. This was not Graham’s first venture to the Infirmary, and so he kept his eyes shut, kept himself still, and willed the darkness back. He fell back into the depths, but not before recognising the voices around him. Madam Pomfrey most of all, fussing and dismissing, but his brother and others of the team, and Avery and his sister, too. Too many of them, and they would want jubilation and glee when all he wanted was his quiet satisfaction. 

When he woke again, the world hung in the balance between night and day, a golden compromise of sunset creeping through the Infirmary’s windows. More importantly there was quiet, for that was what had roused him: just one faint footstep to break the silence. He stirred and let his eyes open, adapting to the world with all its crude cruelties, and so wasn’t sure he recognised the figure slipping away from the foot of the bed. ‘Hargreaves?’ 

She froze, a shadow of the comforting dark keeping away from the golden rays of sunset, and when she spoke her voice came as if from another land, distant and ill-fitting. ‘Thought you were asleep. Didn’t mean to wake you.’ 

‘I’ve slept enough.’ His mouth tasted like cotton wool, and he pushed himself to sit up. Such a simple gesture brought flares in his arms and ribs, and he gritted his teeth. ‘The others all left?’ 

‘Madam Pomfrey said you’d probably not be awake before dinner. Most people are there. They’ll probably be up after.’ She shrugged and didn’t look directly at him. ‘You alright?’ 

‘I’ll be better with a drink,’ Graham said, struggling to reach the glass of water on the bedside table. But she didn’t help and he got it by himself after a moment, grateful for that she hadn’t coddled. Drinking washed away the stuffiness inside, and he relaxed as the warm darkness stopped beckoning him so urgently. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t leave you to handle Muirne alone.’ 

‘I can manage her a few days. I just wondered how long you’d be out of action.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Madam Pomfrey did tell me. I wasn’t sticking around.’ 

‘You didnae strike me as the sort to weep by a bedside,’ he drawled, brogue creeping in more than normal. He put the glass down. ‘It’s appreciated.’ 

‘Stopping by, or not weeping?’ 

‘Both.’ He glanced to the door. ‘You shouldn’t linger. Randal and the others might come back.’ 

‘Don’t want them to know I visited?’ 

His brow furrowed. ‘I was thinking it’d be better for _you_ to avoid them.’ 

Hargreaves’ expression had remained flat throughout; all she did at this point was click her tongue. ‘Always is. I’ll see you on Monday, Mulciber.’ She turned to leave before hesitating. ‘You flew good today.’ 

She didn’t wait for an answer before she left, letting Graham sink back on the pillows with a sigh. But it didn’t take long before there were fresh footsteps, lighter than Hargreaves’, and his eyes fluttered open to see his sister Madeline padding up to the bed. ‘What was _she_ doing here?’ 

Madeline had none of their brother Randal’s bulk, but all of his presence for it. The cultivated good looks, the golden locks, the easy smiles and artful features that all seemed to turn to ice on Graham. The younger of Slytherin House, those who still worried about House points and good marks and sneaking in fun between classes all flocked to her, hung on her every word. Soon, Graham suspected, she would be expected to echo some of Randal’s rhetoric or be displaced, but for now he stood by and watched and let her enjoy the time in the sun. 

‘I’ve been partnered up with her in Care of Magical Creatures. She wanted to make sure I’m able to do my share of the work on Monday.’ Graham shifted his weight. ‘She’s alright, Lin.’ 

‘I just nipped out for a drink and saw her, I thought I’d let you talk. But I’m not the one you’ll need to convince.’ She perched on the foot of the bed. ‘Randal would explode.’ 

‘So she picked her timing well. Randal’s at dinner?’ 

She shook her head. ‘He’s with everyone in the common room. Don’t judge him too harshly, he’s still the victorious captain. Still has to lead the troops in celebration. And it’s quite the celebration.’ She glanced to the door. ‘Madam Pomfrey said you’re free to go, by the way. Saul’s going to pop by soon to see if you need help getting back to the dungeons and -’ 

‘Lin.’ He reached for her hand and tried to not flinch at the flicker of pain from the sudden gesture. It wasn’t much, but if he was still he felt fine, so the jolt was unexpected. ‘I’m alright. Truly.’ 

Madeline didn’t look him in the eye. ‘You ploughed into the pitch at full speed to beat someone else to a flying ball. You’re _not_ fine, and I’m not talking about what Madam Pomfrey has to say.’ 

‘I had to -’ 

‘To win? More than you had to stop _breaking your neck_?’ Her hand snatched from his, demure calm turned to frustration in a blink, and she shot to her feet. ‘Why? Because that’s what everyone wants? Because _Randal_ tells you to?’ 

‘It’s not that -’ 

‘Or because some _stupid_ bit of paper gave _half_ of Dad’s story and you want to fix how people look at us? Everyone’s going to _forget_ the bloody _Gutters_ in a few weeks, Graham! You don’t have to risk killing yourself to please people or change how they look at you.’ 

‘ _That_ _’s_ not it!’ The words burst from his chest, ignoring his aching ribs, and her eyes widened at his flash of anger. ‘I fought to beat Cresswell because _I_ wanted to win. _Me_ , Lin. Not so Randal would be happy or to prove whatever stupid point was going around. I would have done the _exact_ same thing if it had just been me and Cresswell and nobody watching, nobody but us knowing how it ended. I did it for _me_.’ 

She stared at him for a moment, face pinching. ‘Well, that’s just - that’s stupid, Graham. Maybe the House will applaud you and maybe you’ll please Randal with it. But _I_ don’t like it. And I bet _Mum_ wouldn’t, either.’ 

His throat tightened. ‘You won’t tell her -’ 

‘Why shouldn’t I? If you’re so proud of what you did, why don’t you want her to know? Maybe because _she_ _’ll_ panic at the thought of losing a son _as well_ as Dad?’ Madeline’s hands screwed into fists by her side, measured and petty arguments alike fading in the face of her frustration and fear. ‘So maybe you _should_ start thinking how other people watch you, Graham. Because _I_ didn’t want to watch you kill yourself on a Quidditch pitch.’ 

She stormed off before he could summon a response, and he lay glaring at the ceiling only until he was sure she was long gone. If he waited too long, his heart would stop pounding in his chest and he needed this anger and frustration and burning life to get out of there. 

Madam Pomfrey emerged from her desk to hurry over just as he was pulling the outer layer of his Quidditch robes back on. ‘Mister Mulciber, are you sure you’re -’ 

‘You told my sister I was free to go, didn’t you?’ 

‘I did. But you should be careful. You cracked three ribs and broke your arm just above the elbow. I’ve fixed it up, but it’ll still be delicate for a few days. If you don’t rest or if you exert yourself, you might end up back here, and with _worse_ injuries.’ 

_I just ploughed into the damn Quidditch pitch. How is a little exertion going to make this worse?_ But he nodded and gave her a wan smile. ‘Thank you. I’ll be careful.’ 

He had to cling to Madeline’s lack of understanding to keep himself furious enough to make it back to the dungeon under his own steam. Cling to his indignation at that wretched _Gutters_ , cling to the frustration that Randal might have kicked out Hargreaves without a thought. But it kept his adrenaline pumping, even if it left him exhausted by the time he stumbled down the steps into the Slytherin common room. 

And into the celebrations. 

He’d hoped to slip in without being noticed, but the moment someone spotted him, a cheer erupted from the jubilant crowd of Slytherin House. People yelled, people threw themselves at him to slap his back and shake his hand, and he stumbled and almost fell at the surge of bodies and feelings. 

‘Take it easy, everyone, let’s give the man of the hour some breathing room!’ Saul was beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulder in a way which looked companionable but all of a sudden was keeping him upright. A sweep of his free arm drove everyone back, and Graham had to work to not cling to his best friend as he guided him through the swell of bodies to the centre, where the rest of the Quidditch team stood, sat, or lounged with adoring fans and a small tower of Butterbeer bottles. 

‘Thanks,’ Graham murmured under the chattering and cheering. 

Saul gripped his shoulder tight. ‘Any time. Especially if you’re going to pull off something as insanely brilliant as that. Now sit _down_.’ 

But before he could steer him to one of the comfortable armchairs, Randal appeared before them. Still in his Quidditch gear, tall and rumpled and swaggering, he beamed at his brother and clapped Graham on the shoulder so hard he would have fallen if it weren’t for Saul. ‘You did us proud today.’ 

The urge to smile felt like a betrayal of himself. ‘There was never any doubt I could beat Cresswell.’ 

‘And it happened at the right time.’ Randal stepped around to include the rest of the team in his address, his voice rolling over the good cheer and chatter of the rest of the House. ‘We did well today, all of us. Gryffindor got soundly beaten.’ 

Amycus Carrow and Regulus Black gave claps and cheers, but Alecto shook what looked like not her first empty bottle of Butterbeer and snorted. ‘Come off it, Randal, they had us on the ropes for most of that match.’ 

Wilkes elbowed his fellow Beater Rosier. ‘She _is_ a wet blanket. Come off it, Carrow, we _won_.’ 

‘We did,’ said Randal, words filling any rift of argument. ‘And we proved ourselves _right_ -’ 

Rosier guffawed. ‘Oh, _unwind_ , Mulciber! We had a match, we had fun, we _won_!’ 

‘Yeah,’ Wilkes agreed. ‘We don’t need to make everything so _serious_! Unclench!’ Before Randal could argue, Wilkes rose to his feet, raising a bottle in either hand as he turned to the crowd of Slytherins. ‘ _We_ _’re gonna take the Cup_!’ 

The roar of approval was enough distraction to let Saul help Graham into an armchair, and the discomfort of that stopped him from smirking at the astonished look on Randal’s face. _We won today, brother. And most people didn_ _’t notice it was by the skin of our teeth or by my flying alone. We won and they’re all happy, but sometimes let school sports be school sports. Nobody’s sat here thinking of any coming war or any political statement but you._  
  
Graham wondered if he should talk with Randal in private, or try to turn the tide of the crowd joining Wilkes and Rosier’s brutish jubilation - a tide clearly wrapping the rest of the team, even loyalist Amycus or clever Regulus, letting them spend one night not as some secret growing army but victorious teenagers. And before Graham could decide which he wanted to be, or which he wanted _them_ to be, Alecto Carrow slid onto the armrest of his chair and planted a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand. ‘You need a drink.’ 

Despite himself, he smirked. ‘I do,’ Graham agreed, and had a swig to discover the Butterbeer label was a lie. He coughed. ‘What _is_ that?’ 

‘You’d have to ask Saul.’ Alecto giggled. ‘He got the party supplies in. So…’ Her fingers played with the lapels of his robes and she leaned in, and the intricacies of organising festivities became much less interesting. ‘Are you going to give me the _blow by blow_ story of beating Cresswell today?’

§ 

The red and yellow wouldn’t come out of his hair. He’d coloured it with something cheap he’d bought in Zonko’s on the Hogsmeade trip, but the bottles swore it was temporary. Or so Jack thought. It was hard to be sure, as he’d binned them that morning after use. Both of them. So he stuck his head in the sink and let the water run red and gold and _still_ when he looked up at the mirror he looked like a Christmas badger.

At worst, he needed this fixed by Monday, or some teacher would use it as an excuse to have a go at him. At best, he needed this gone _now_ , so he could go down to dinner not looking like a man who’d cheered for the losing team, the losing _ideal_ , all day. Quidditch was an idle diversion suddenly blown out of all proportion, and while Jack wasn’t very good at picking his fights, he didn’t fancy starting one over Quaffles. And with the mood of the school today, stating _any_ allegiance too loud might get him in trouble. 

Everyone else had gone down to dinner, or so he thought, which was why he jumped and hit his head on the tap when he heard footsteps at the bathroom door. ‘Yeah, I _know_ I’m going to be late -’ 

‘Hell’s _teeth_ , Jack, take this.’ 

He started again at Leo Travers’ voice, and stared at the bottle plonked on the sink. ‘What…’ 

‘You’re using Zonko’s _Dragon_ _’s Glory_ brand of hair dyes. You know how they work, right? They don’t just colour your hair.’ 

‘I don’t -’ 

‘There’s an enchantment on the dye itself to make it keep replenishing itself. So when you’re sticking it under water, it _is_ washing the dye off, but it’s also re-dying the hair. And, I bet, dying the water.’ Travers clicked his tongue. ‘That’s the disenchanting wash. Which you _should_ have bought _with_ the dye. I bet they were on offer together.’ 

Jack snatched the bottle and straightened, scowling. ‘I don’t need your charity.’ 

Travers sighed and stared at a spot above Jack’s head. ‘It’s a bottle of hair wash, Jack. Do calm down. I’m trying to stop you from going to dinner looking a pillock.’ 

‘You can’t stop me,’ Jack snarled, unscrewing the bottle. 

Travers snorted - but it was a genuine sound, the wry amusement they used to share for everything. ‘It’s true, no power of magic can stop you from looking a pillock. But I saw you struggling and realised you were going to stay up here and drown yourself if I didn’t do something.’ 

‘So, what, now I owe you?’ It would have been easier to be indignant if he weren’t also lathering his hair. 

‘You really are bloody defensive, aren’t you?’ 

‘Can’t imagine why. Wouldn’t be because you ditched me last year.’ 

‘I didn’t _ditch_ -’ 

‘You started hanging with Avery and Mulciber and Carrow. You started going to their little parties. You started laughing at their jokes, doing their sort of thing, repeating their words. And they’re _their_ words, Leo, not _yours_. Or maybe they’re your mum’s -’ 

Through the suds in his eyes he could see Leo tense. ‘ _Stop_ bringing my mother into this -’ 

‘It’s the truth!’ Jack exploded, straightening and letting hair wash go everywhere. ‘She wants you to be a _good boy_ , so you go and be a good boy! And that means being like them!’ 

‘I don’t - calm down, Jack, I don’t even _care_ about most of that stuff; you _know_ I don’t.’ Leo took a step back. ‘It keeps life quiet. It keeps them off my back. And, yeah, it keeps Mum off my back.’ 

‘And brings people _to_ you,’ Jack sneered, ‘because they don’t fancy being targeted by Mulciber an’ his lot neither, so if you all band together and play nice little underlings long enough they’ll overlook you? No matter what it costs?’ 

Leo’s jaw tightened. ‘I didn’t want to drive you away.’ 

‘What’d you _think_ would happen, dicking around with people like that, playing echo to people like that? Even before you started _mocking_ me publicly?’ 

‘You gave me shit first!’ 

He had. In summer it was Jack who’d publicly mocked Leo, Jack who’d been curt and crude and taken him down pegs while crowds chortled. But he shook his head. ‘Only if you think signing on with people who want me dead isn’t “giving me shit.”’ 

‘I came here, believe it or not, to make peace.’ 

‘ _After_ you got me kicked out of the Three Broomsticks?’ 

‘Because _you_ started _lecturing_ Paul for hanging out with me. Like we’re _twelve_ or something and if you’re not my friend, nobody should be -’ 

Then the bottle of hair wash wasn’t in Jack’s hand any more. He threw it at the wall next to Leo, where the plastic broke and it spurted pale lavender goop all over the tiled walls. A distant part of Jack hoped he’d got enough in his hair to clean the dye out. The rest was so angry he didn’t care if he was gold and red forever. ‘Jesus _Christ_ , Leo, this really is just about _words_ to you, innit? Or childish bickering? Say things to please Mumsy, say the right things to please the right people, an’ it’s _Jack_ who went and was all _unreasonable_ over it. It’s just _words_ , so why should Jack be so pissy? ‘Cos it ain’t fuckin’ life and death to you, is it?’ 

When he threw things and shouted, most people cringed away. Leo Travers didn’t, because Leo Travers knew if Jack Corrigan was going to kick off, he’d have done it by now. Throwing things was a sign of restraint. And Jack hated him even more for that - for spewing such horseshit and thinking it not a big deal and _still_ being maybe the person in the world who knew him best. 

Travers looked at the shattered bottle, then back to Jack. ‘I really hope that cleans your hair,’ was all he said. And then he left. 

It took another ten minutes before the water stopped running red.

§ 

Going back to the common room felt like betrayal. To step into that tide of disappointment and grief would make her an interloper, not because Lily didn’t share their feelings - but because she’d joined them in hope much, much too late. They had looked for this day for weeks, pinned so much hope and expectation onto the Quidditch match, and she’d only understood what it meant in the final days, _hours_. If she’d felt nothing, she would have been comfortable keeping to herself in a corner, reading and waiting for it to all blow over. Instead, guilt at being her house’s pale shadow kept her away for hours.

They were not fruitless hours. She’d walked the grounds with Wick, talking and intermittently _not_ talking, though neither could distract her fully. The jeers from the Slytherin supporters rung too loud in her ears, crowing over a victory not just in sports, but ideology. Potter had turned the match from house against house and pitted philosophies, _moralities_ against one another. And then he’d lost. 

But Lily couldn’t stay away forever, and the darkness of winter’s creeping grasp drove her from the grounds, out of Wick’s arms and company, and back to Gryffindor tower. It was as sombre a place as she’d expected. Decorations had been put up before the match’s end - she still wasn’t sure by whom - and so crimson and gold streamed from walls and between beams, a patriotic mockery of hopes and failures. Potter had of course laid out for snacks, drinks, _drinks_ , and they available as brazenly as she’d expected. If he’d won, how could she or any prefect snatch away the Firewhisky without being turned on by the whole house? In defeat, hardly anyone was drinking, and she couldn’t summon the will to admonish a couple of Seventh Years drowning sorrows in a corner. 

Clearly the day was getting to her, too. 

There was no sign of Dory, nor any of the other girls in their year. Lily assumed they’d be in the dormitory, trying to cheer up a despondent Mary, and she would have gone to join them if she hadn’t spotted Remus, sat at a table, writing feverishly. 

She headed over but didn’t sit, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Hey.’ 

His gaze was tired when he looked up, but it was with obvious relish that he took a large gulp from the bottle by his quills that was definitely _not_ Butterbeer. ‘Lily.’ 

‘I’m not about to cause trouble.’ She bit her lip. ‘You’re alone down here?’ 

He slid his papers inside a hefty Transfiguration tome and closed it. ‘Thought I’d crack on with some work.’ 

‘The essay’s not due for a fortnight.’ But Remus just shrugged, and she pressed on. ‘I figured you guys would all be together.’ 

‘Peter drank too much already and is sleeping it off. Sirius is with Marlene. James is -’ His expression pinched. ‘Why, did you want to yell at us all again?’ 

Her heart sank. ‘You said we were okay.’ 

‘ _We_ _’re_ okay. _I_ know how to cope with you, Lily. The others don’t need you getting self-righteous at them. Not now.’ 

‘I wasn’t going to!’ It was hard to keep out the indignation. ‘I _was_ , believe it or not, wondering if they were alright. Wondering if _Potter_ _’s_ alright.’ 

‘Did you get taken over by aliens this afternoon?’ 

‘If Black’s with Marlene and Pettigrew’s asleep, you left him on his own?’ 

Remus opened and shut his mouth. ‘I have known James for a long time,’ he said at last, delicately, ‘and there are times when he needs to be left alone. Or with Sirius.’ He hesitated. ‘He’s downstairs. In that wretched old bathroom.’ 

She left him to his writing. If he wanted to work on a Transfiguration paper weeks before it was due as _his_ means of brooding, she wouldn’t stop him. She wasn’t even sure _why_ she headed down the swirling stairway, clean and scrubbed masonry making way for dank gloom as she went deeper and deeper. But the alternative was to offer sympathy to Mary for a match she’d spent so long dismissing, or sitting in the common room and waiting for it all to blow over. 

Lily Evans wasn’t very good at waiting for things to blow over. Much better to _do_ something. Even if that something now included talking to James Potter. 

He was down there, in that dank toilet where she’d found him and Black and their ridiculous fight club for First Years. But that had felt like walking into a gnarl in sense and reason, a place where the world knotted away from how it _should_ be if people were half-decent to each other and into the little parade of the Life of the Marauders. The room still felt like that twist away from decency, a dark crevice where no light of goodness could reach, but it certainly wasn’t the parade ground for James Potter’s indulgence. 

Just his failures. 

He sat on the cracked counter beside the bare sinks and the empty mirror frames, alone. While she wasn’t surprised to see the bottle of Firewhisky next to him, she _was_ surprised to see it full and unopened, and so he was clear-eyed when he sprang to his feet at her arrival. ‘What’re you - Evans?’ 

And then she didn’t know what to say. ‘Remus said you were down here.’ 

She was so used to seeing him smiling or, rather, _smirking_. With a sombre glare in this darkness, in this gnarl away from the world, it was almost difficult to recognise him. He’d stripped out of only the bulkiest bits of Quidditch kit, still in his robes under the padding, hair wilder than ever from the frantic match, but there was none of the golden captain of this morning, inspiring his people to victory. Because there had _been_ no victory. 

‘As you can see,’ he said, voice unfamiliarly bland, ‘I’m not making eleven year-olds beat each other up. So there’s no nosing for you to do around here.’ 

Lily stuck her hands on her hips. ‘Why is everyone assuming I’m going to be a top class bitch even _today_?’ 

‘Why, does it… ever stop? Do let me know where the “off” switch is.’ 

‘This _is_ it being off, you enormous bell-end!’ She’d advanced into the darkness and he’d held his ground, but their gaze couldn’t lock at that ridiculous statement for more than a heartbeat. He snorted, and she had to look away, abashed, and fight a self-deprecrating smile. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Potter’s smirk was returning. ‘Hold up, hold up, you’re _not_ being a pain in my side _and_ you’re sorry?’ 

She turned her nose up. ‘For the record, Remus has _already asked_ if I’ve been taken over by tiny, brain-controlling aliens.’ 

‘And what did you say?’ 

‘That the Central Hive doesn’t allow me to answer that question.’ His smile softened, and she dared step further into the darkness. ‘I came, believe it or not, to check up on you.’ 

‘ _Why_?’ 

‘Seriously, Potter? You put your heart and soul into today and it ends like it did? _Everyone_ _’s_ worried about you, just… I guess everyone else is also worrying about themselves. And before you say anything, today _wasn_ _’t_ just a match. I could see that. I wouldn’t have told you to give them hell for _just_ a match.’ 

Potter looked away, smile dying. ‘No. It wasn’t just a match. I built it into something bigger. I pinned way more onto it, made people believe in more, and I _lost_. I let them down.’ 

‘From where I was sitting, _you_ didn’t let them down. You played your heart out, all of you did. It was bad luck Graham Mulciber got the Snitch -’ 

‘It wasn’t bad luck; Mulciber’s _better_ than Dirk.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s not Dirk’s fault. Mulciber’s the best Seeker in the school. The best Seeker _I_ _’ve_ seen. But I pushed him too hard, I made the stakes too high and I put too much on _just his_ shoulders.’ 

‘It was on everyone’s shoulders. And you’ll all move forwards. The season isn’t over, and Dirk doesn’t have to beat Mulciber again, just Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw -’ 

‘Dirk doesn’t have to beat _anyone_.’ Potter looked back at her. ‘He quit. I put too much pressure on him, and he quit. I built up this match too much, and I _failed_.’ 

Lily sighed. ‘It wasn’t just a match,’ she accepted. ‘But also… it _was_ just a match. I do actually respect what you were trying to do, Potter. I think it was good of you, _big_ of you; I think it brought people together in belief and I also think it made people - Muggle-borns - feel safer, feel like someone had their backs -’ 

‘And now they feel _exposed_ , like they stuck their necks out and I let them down and now they’re just _targets_ -’ 

‘We were _already targets_ , Potter! Yes, it would have been better if you’d won, but you wouldn’t have fixed the world, fixed the _school_ with a Quidditch game!’ She stomped over to him. ‘Did it occur to you that a victory might have made Mulciber and his cronies lash out? And that defeat might make him complacent?’ He sobered at that, but she could see his creeping guilt, and pushed on. ‘What mattered wasn’t whether you won or lost. What mattered was that for the _first time_ , someone made a public stand. Someone said they would oppose Mulciber and his ilk. Someone said Muggle-borns could and would _beat_ them. Regardless of the result, do you know how strong that statement is?’ 

‘I wasn’t the first.’ He hesitated. ‘Mulciber punched you and landed Jack Corrigan in the hospital wing. Whoever writes that _Gutters_ thing went after Mulciber _and_ Drake.’ 

‘My scrap with Mulciber wasn’t a statement, it was survival. If we’d _won_ it might have meant something, but we didn’t. And _Gutters_ \- it’s making good points, even if it went after Baddock, and it can inspire. But you can’t _rally_ behind something so anonymous. And maybe it doesn’t matter if you weren’t first, but you were loudest. Loudest I’ve ever seen. So, you see, Potter, I absolutely _forbid_ you from beating yourself up over this.’ 

‘It wasn’t enough.’ 

‘What’s _happened_ to you, Potter? What’s brought all this on?’ 

He hesitated, then returned to the counter and unstoppered the bottle of Firewhisky. ‘What can I say, Evans? You lit a fire under my arse.’ 

‘I mean _before_ that. When you picked on Baddock and made First Years turn violent and acted so out of sorts your friends are worried sick about you. Even if you don’t tell _me_ , you should tell _them._ ’ 

His shoulders stiffened at that. ‘I didn’t think you the sort to care.’ 

‘I didn’t,’ she admitted, ‘except today you showed yourself capable of caring about something _other_ than your ego. So I’m returning the favour.’ 

He set the bottle down on the counter with a _thunk_ and still didn’t turn to her. ‘I didn’t tell them,’ Potter said quietly, ‘because telling them makes it all real.’ A familiar sort of tension and a familiar taste of bile had both risen in her throat before he could continue. ‘I found out two days before term started. My dad’s sick. Like, not-going-to-make-it sick. Heart condition.’ 

Lily closed her eyes, fighting back the memory of so many visits to sterile hospital rooms she could smell the disinfectant even now. ‘I’m sorry. Magic can’t…?’ 

‘It’s congenital. Apparently. And hasn’t been enough to hold him back before, but he’s _old_ , now, Evans, they were older when they had me...’ Defeated, Potter flopped against the counter. ‘I mean, he and Mum should have had another twenty years _at least_ , but magic can still only do so much under these conditions. And this landed on me right before going back to school, and NEWTs, when everything is meant to go more _serious_ and I’m meant to be looking at life after Hogwarts and all I can think about it how I’m going to lose my father -’ 

For one horrifying moment, she thought he was going to cry. That had her hurrying over to his side, only to lean against the counter next to him and not reach out; just be close, just be a presence. He looked like he might have shied away if she’d tried touching him, taking deep breaths and scrubbing furiously at his face. She knew she had to fill the silence while he fought for composure, and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘My mum died a couple of years ago. It doesn’t feel like the sort of thing you should be able to survive. And I don’t know how I did. But I’m still here.’ 

That stopped him short, and while she couldn’t look him in the eye - could only reach for the Firewhisky for her own swig - she could feel his startled gaze on her. ‘A couple of _years_ ago? Merlin, Evans, I didn’t know -’ 

‘Because I didn’t tell people. And I didn’t tell you for _sympathy_ , I told you because…’ She frowned at the bottle. ‘I get it. It’s horrid and it’s scary. But you’ve got something I didn’t: good friends who have your back. And they’re worried about you. Not to mention - false hope’s shit, but - I mean, if there’s _anything_ that could be done by magic to help your father, you’re the Potters, you’ll get the best help -’ 

She’d thought she’d done so well. Sounded properly supportive and nice, but then she felt his gaze on her, curious, _piercing_ , and knew bitterness had crept in. ‘Magic couldn’t help your mum?’ 

‘Magic _wouldn_ _’t_.’ And then she’d given up trying to hide her feelings, and had another swig of Firewhisky. ‘Rules and regulations of Saint Mungo’s. Only those who practice magic or are under a magical affliction can receive magical medical assistance. And trust me, I _pushed_ those regulations.’ 

Potter looked aghast. ‘They could have done something and they didn’t?’ 

‘I don’t know if it _would_ have worked,’ Lily said, because it was easier to pretend this even if all of her reading suggested her mother would have stood a good chance. She’d been fourteen, far too young to start poring over wizarding medical journals and magical legislative precedents, but there was nobody else to do it. ‘But I tried, because my father’s a Muggle and so’s my sister, so it _had_ to me be who wrote the letters, who made the appeals, over and over even if it got nowhere. And every time, they said the same thing: no exceptions. Else they’d have to start offering medical assistance to _everyone_.’ 

She’d been sneering right up until she felt the grief rise in her chest, tight and hot and old, old enough that it had sunk into her bones and become a part of her along with every blossoming inch of resentment. Because _resentment_ was the right word. She’d spent months watching her mother struggle as Muggle medicine proved insufficient, knowing how possible it would be just to _ease_ her condition if not control it, waiting on tenterhooks for the next owl delivery with its resounding, echoing refusals. She’d lied to her father and sister, told them there was nothing magic could do, and she knew neither had believed her. Stephen Evans had been sanguine on the matter, treating it as just one more disappointment the world had delivered him, one brief note in the symphony of grief that was losing his wife. 

Petunia had not been as level-headed. In her eyes, the magical world she’d hated had dangled a reprieve in front of her only to cruelly refuse it, and the rift between sisters had been complete. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Potter said at last. ‘I didn’t know. I never even thought about that sort of thing.’ 

A part of her wanted to scoff at his ignorance, because of course he’d never looked further than his own nose on these matters. Sympathy for his father’s state held her tongue first, and then the grinding, wearying question of _why should he have looked_? ‘I didn’t tell you for pity, I told you for - so you know I understand a bit. So _someone_ understands a bit.’ Expression creasing, she passed him the Firewhisky. ‘I really am sorry about your father.’ 

He inclined his head and took the bottle. ‘I spent so long dicking around these past years,’ he said, voice going hoarse. ‘Grades I’ve lazed my way through and pranks and schemes and - I know I was being an arse the last few months, but with this Quidditch match I wanted to do something that mattered. Something he’d be proud of.’ 

‘It’s not over,’ she said softly. ‘There’ll be a next time.’ 

He looked like he might protest - then straightened. ‘Sure, Evans. So long as there’s a next time for you, too.’ 

‘A next time for Mulciber backhanding me in the face? Pass.’ 

‘Then get _better_. Believe it or not, the First Year Fight Club wasn’t some stupid prank. It wasn’t my best-thought scheme, but I really did want them to learn to defend themselves. Can you tell me, honestly, that next time you’ll step back and let Mary get attacked or Corrigan get flattened?’ 

‘Well, no -’ 

‘You said you and other Muggle-borns are still targets? That this was just a match, and it won’t _really_ change anything? What you did helped Mary. Imagine if you’d beaten Mulciber? That would have made him think twice about who he targeted. That would make Snape and the Carrows and Avery think twice. So maybe I shouldn’t be teaching First Years how to fight better. I should be teaching people like _you_ how to fight better.’ He smirked. ‘So you can take me up on that offer and be able to _make_ the change you want to see. Or you can keep bitching at me for not making enough of a difference.’ 

‘ _Touch_ _é_.’ Her lips thinned. ‘I’d call you insane, but it’s not as if the school’s protecting it’s own.’ 

‘It’s not. So, I keep working on the team and help you. You get to turn _shouty_ into action. Deal?’ He took a swig of the whisky, and offered it to her. 

She, sighed, then took the bottle and drank. ‘Deal.’ 


	19. That's How it Goes

_I tell you, folks,_   
_It_ _’s harder than it looks,_   
_-_ _‘It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Want to Rock and Roll)’, AC/DC (1975)_

 

In the end, Fletch needed a full wall-chart to keep track of the takings from the match. She stuck it up on the wall in her dorm and rolled it away super quick if Baddock came nosing around, because Merlin knew the nosey bitch couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut if she had half an excuse to make trouble for someone so long as she ended up on top. But it still made everything easier to monitor.

‘Finally,’ she sighed on Sunday afternoon as she emerged down in the common room to plonk on the comfy chairs across from Hargreaves and Cecil. ‘The numbers, I have conquered them. Which means it’s payday.’ She pulled out two pouches and put them on the coffee table. ‘Your cuts.’

Hargreaves picked up hers, the decidedly heavier, with a suspicious air. ‘You sure you’re all done with the maths? Last time we had to give these _back_ so you could recalculate.’

‘Don’t remind her.’ Cecil snatched up his, which was more like pocket money for helping note down some bets for her. But he did it without complaining, making him her favourite right then. ‘We only lost a few sickles in the end.’

Fletch raised her hands. ‘I learnt my lesson. It’s all finalised.’

Cecil looked appeased, but Hargreaves slipped open her pouch to investigate before gruffly saying, ‘So this is just a percentage of the takings.’

‘Like we agreed.’

‘Yeah, but takings from the betting.’ She looked up, gaze dark. ‘Do I get a percentage of whatever Avery or Mulciber paid you?’

The common room wasn’t busy this time of day; most Ravenclaws were out and about or in the library, but there were enough people there Fletch smacked her hands on the coffee table. ‘Keep it down, would you?’ Making money off someone’s misery was one thing. Helping to rig a match was something _entirely_ different.

‘What? I’m just asking.’

_I haven_ _’t been paid by Avery yet_ , she wanted to say. But that wasn’t the point. Teeth gritted, Fletch reached into her thicker, leather pouch with more of the coins. ‘ _Fine_. A galleon. That’s your cut from what Avery -’

Hargreaves snorted and shoved herself to her feet. ‘I weren’t looking for more money.’

‘You were just, what, trying to keep the moral high ground by taking money for my illicit betting ring and still being judging?’ Fletch sighed as she looked up, reminded just how tall Hargreaves was - how she could probably break her across the table if she was of a mind to - and refused to let herself be cowed. She waved a weary hand. ‘Sit the hell back down or actually do something, Amy. Don’t pretend I’m going to get all intimidated.’

It was risky, calling Hargreaves’ bluff like that. Cecil edged away from them. But then Hargreaves snorted, like it wasn’t worth her time, and plonked back down. ‘It’s one thing to make money off people’s bets, another thing to -’

‘Do the same thing we’ve always done? Do the same thing you’ve always profited from?’ Fletch’s voice went hard. ‘Don’t act like you’re suddenly _belonging_ to the rest of the school, Hargreaves. Their games, their sports, their House pride - you know that’s just shit they do to keep everything in its tidy little boxes so they know who to stamp down on.’

‘Potter made this more than just a Quidditch match -’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, was James Potter beating Slytherin supposed to fix the school? Funny how suddenly people _only_ care about the Muggle-born cause when a rich, popular pure-blood’s championing it. This wasn’t going to change anything. There was still going to be the goods and the bads in the school, the haves and the have-nots. Even _if_ he’d managed to drive off Mulciber and his cronies, you think people like _you and me_ are going to get a look-in?’ Fletch harrumphed. ‘No, they’re way more interested in making things good for the Muggle-borns and half-bloods who can still fit in, look the part. They might start inviting Evans, Wick, Macdonald to the big tables, but you? Or even an unsuitable half-blood like me? There’s no way in this we’re not still scum. So I say _to hell_ with Potter’s posturing, and pretending he’s all things to all men, and I say we make some fuckin’ money out of it.’

Cecil was holding his breath through this, but Hargreaves’ eyes were locked right on Fletch’s, dark and unforgiving. Fletch didn’t let herself so much as flinch. She’d known Amy Hargreaves for too long, and when she was quiet it meant she was listening. Shouting or acting were the real dangers.

Hargreaves took a deep breath. ‘My cut was twenty-percent.’

Fletch forced herself to not smile. ‘I guess you’re right,’ she said, and reached into her pouch anew to add four galleons on top of the first. ‘From Avery’s pay.’ And then, to stop her from getting cocky, ‘How was your buddy Mulciber?’

‘He’s not my -’

‘You know how I just said I don’t give a shit about either side, Har?’ She opened her hands. ‘That goes for me not judging whatever Graham Mulciber is.’

‘He’s nothing.’ Hargreaves picked up the coins, then hesitated. ‘We’re not friends. But we’ve worked together. So I don’t want to see him get smeared across a pitch.’

Fletch smirked and got to her feet. ‘That’s practically gushing, coming from you, girl. But I better go see Avery and make sure he does cough up.’ _And hope I don_ _’t have to be persuasive_.

‘Be sure to hose yourself down after you’re done dealing with him; that man is pure sleaze,’ Hargreaves warned.

‘Maybe not a hose; oil and water don’t mix, you know,’ Cecil said. ‘Use some sort of sophisticated magical wash -’

‘Your trash-talk loses momentum when you do that, Cec,’ Fletch pointed out. ‘I’ll be fine.’

_After all. I_ _’m about to get paid._

§

‘He didn’t come down for breakfast,’ Sirius hissed across the common room table. ‘I know he’s hungover, but still, guys. We’ve got to do something.’

‘I agree,’ said Remus after a cautious glance over his shoulder. ‘You _know_ I agree, Sirius, but what can we do now that we’ve not been trying the last two months?’

‘More importantly,’ said Peter, ‘that _you_ _’ve_ not been trying the last two months. We all care about James, but you’re the one he talks to.’

_Usually_. Sirius had left the stand yesterday afternoon with Marlene, deflated by the game but, above all, worried. James had poured so much of himself into this match, fought with a fervour he’d never seen before. With his dark moods, Sirius hadn’t dared find out how he’d take this sort of setback, and didn’t know how he’d cope with being rebuffed if he tried to help. So, like a coward, he’d stayed away all night, returning only to the Gryffindor common room once most people were asleep, James snoring deeply into his pillow in the dormitory.

‘I think this is going to take all of us,’ Sirius said. ‘We’ve kind of danced around this, guys, for weeks. Made vague noises and hoped he’d talk to us, but I think - this is, like, intervention time. It’s time for him to talk.’

Remus gave him a level look. ‘This is Marlene’s idea, isn’t it.’

‘Sort of.’ He made a face. ‘Actually, she asked why guys need to hold a _committee_ to plan a conversation to cheer up a mate. I pointed out we’d tried talking about it without talking about it. She… wasn’t sympathetic.’

‘Smart girl,’ Remus sighed.

‘Not that smart,’ muttered Peter. ‘She’s making us confront James. _And_ she’s going out with Sirius.’

‘True. So what’s our plan?’

Sirius bit his lip as they both looked at him, and drew a deep breath. ‘Same as it always is: follow my lead, and make it up as we go along.’

‘I hate that plan,’ said Remus, but slid off the chair to follow Sirius to the dormitory anyway.

‘And usually we follow _James_ ’ lead,’ pointed out Peter.

It was drawing on for noon, and none of them had returned to the dormitory since leaving it for breakfast, the crimson glow of sunlight trying to breach the closed curtains the only light to penetrate the gloom. Sirius didn’t bother knocking, because he’d accepted by now that would be delaying the inevitable, so when the three stepped in it was to find themselves bathed in the bright midday sun, the usual stuffiness broken by a cool breeze.

James had thrown the curtains open, the windows open, and shoved aside whole slews of the usual mess of his side of the room. On the far side of the room he’d pinned up sketches and diagrams, enough to cover the wall and creep around corners, the ceiling, the floor, and and Sirius recognised these, recognised the records they’d taken over the years of the layout of Hogwarts. The man himself stood before it all, fully dressed, hair wilder than usual with a quill stuck behind his ear, and when they burst in he turned, beaming, and clapped his hands together.

‘ _There_ you are! We’ve got work to do.’

Remus and Sirius exchanged glances, but it was Remus who stepped forward. ‘You’ve been - are those our maps?’

‘Top marks, Moony.’ James clicked his fingers. ‘And I see you’ve been working on them the last few months, sneaky and on the side. I had to dig them out of your trunk.’

‘Dug them out -’

‘And I _love_ the enchantment work you’ve been adding.’ James swept to the portion of wall-covering map that depicted the Great Hall, and tapped some of the little dots on it which Sirius could see, now he squinted, were moving. ‘Keeping track of _everyone_ in school, all their movements? That’s immense, Moony, that’s bloody _immense._ And, well, a little stalker-y, but we’re not going to judge…’

His voice trailed off as he turned back to the maps, and as Remus and Sirius exchanged another stunned look, Peter cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he drawled, ‘he’s obviously _despondent_.’

Sirius remembered he’d told them to follow his lead. He coughed and padded over. ‘James, what’s…’ _What_ _’s been wrong? What’s up with you and the game? What’s all_ this _about?_

‘I figured it was time we got this finished, transformed,’ said James, not looking over as he moved between the sheafs of paper, scribbling something in the corner of each with his wand. ‘It’s only so much use to us up here, in a stack of papers big enough to bludgeon Drake to death with it, though I am _thoroughly_ in favour of this plan.’

‘Yes, but, the Quidditch match…’

‘Was lost.’ James stopped at last, and Sirius finally saw the droop of his shoulders, the furrow of his brow. He hesitated, rubbing his temples, then turned to them all and the furtive eagerness faded for something more sincere, brow-beaten. ‘We lost. They won. And I can sit and brood on that, or I can pick myself back up and beat them. Not just at Quidditch, because I stopped this from being all about Quidditch, didn’t I? I made this about the war.’ He tapped his wand on his hand, leaving inky marks on his palm from where he’d been inscribing. ‘So let’s fight a war.’

Sirius drew a deep breath. ‘James, you’ve been…’

‘Elsewhere,’ his best friend finished, and threw him a sad, apologetic smile. ‘I mean, here, of course, but not _here_.’ He tapped his temple. ‘And I - is that why you’re here?’

‘We’re worried about you,’ said Remus.

‘Yeah,’ chirped Peter. ‘I mean, you’ve literally made a crazy-wall, so what the hell comes after this?’

James gave a lopsided grimace. ‘I’ve not been fair to you guys, have I.’ He reached out to clasp Sirius’ shoulder, an easy, comfortable gesture, and when his hand stayed put Sirius could feel his heart swell with, at last, hope. Camaraderie. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few months, and I’ve been trying to pretend it’s not. And that included pretending to you guys because you’re - I mean - if I told _you_ then everything was _extra_ real because I don’t do secrets with you all, with you guys it’s the truth -’

To Sirius’ horror, he pulled away and turned back to the maps, and Sirius could see the sudden quake in his rising chest, the moment where he steeled his expression. When he spoke, gone was the casual sing-song of James forcing himself through it; his voice went low, hoarse. ‘My dad’s dying. He’s got a year, maybe. I found out just after the party.’

‘Shit,’ breathed Peter, as Remus went forward to clasp James’ shoulder, but Sirius was only dimly aware of this as the air rushed in his ears and his chest tightened. And it was to him that James looked as they all rallied around, so he knew he _had_ to say something, had to fight through the sudden bitter taste in his mouth and breathe, _speak_.

‘No bloody way.’

James flinched. ‘Yeah,’ he said stiffly. ‘That’s where I was for a while, too.’

Any time Sirius could spend away from home on holidays, he had. And he’d always gone to the Potters, be it for a long weekend or just an afternoon, and they’d always welcomed him with open arms the like of which he never received at home. It was hot, home-cooked dinners and summer afternoons lounging on the lawn. It was James’ father’s indulgent, friendly smiles and his mother’s good-natured tutting at their antics. Like someone had taken Sirius’ own life and cut through it with a knife and in the Potters he could see everything that was supposed to be there, the dash of colour in slashed velvet sleeves, the gaps open and aching.

And now open and bleeding.

‘There’s _got_ to be something that can be done,’ Sirius blurted. ‘Saint Mungo’s can cure anything, they can -’

‘Sirius.’ That was Remus, voice low and sharp. ‘Not everything can be magicked away.’

He flinched, but then James squeezed his shoulder and dropped his hand. ‘It’s alright. I’ve been going through that, over and over and… I didn’t want to believe it, either.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘So, there you have it. That’s why I’ve been an arse. That’s why I’ve not been talking. I think that’s why I decided I could fix the world with a Quidditch match.’ He made a face.

‘You’re allowed,’ said Remus carefully, ‘to want to run away for a bit when things are rotten. It’s okay. We forgive you.’

‘You weren’t so bad,’ Peter said.

Sirius swallowed. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and made himself meet James’ gaze. _This isn_ _’t about you. This is about him._ He forced a tight smile. ‘And you know you can count on us, mate. We got your back. To the bitter end.’

Now James’ smile was genuine, not a wry smirk or a jocular beam, but wide and honest and even _happy_. ‘To the bitter bloody end.’

The grins in response were a release and a binding, a forgiveness and a pledge - the past was the past, the future had all of them, and nothing would -

‘Wait a fucking second,’ snapped Remus. ‘Did _Lily_ call you on this?’

Sirius stared. ‘Hang on, what?’

James hesitated. ‘Um. Yeah. She came down to the bathroom last night.’

‘She was looking for you,’ said Remus, frowning. ‘I thought you two were going to fight again, but she actually seemed like she _didn_ _’t_ want to kick you down the stairs for once.’

‘No, no. We talked.’ James slipped away from the group and mussed his hair worse. ‘She was - I was pretty miserable and she listened, and - I only told her before I told you ‘cos she was _there_ and also, well, she’s not you guys, it’s more _real_ when I tell _you_ …’

Sirius chortled. ‘Also telling _us_ the truth doesn’t get you into her knickers.’

Peter snickered, Remus face-palmed, but James looked relieved, smiling lopsidedly. ‘Not that it’d do me much good,’ he pointed out. ‘Wick’s around. But yeah, she gave me a bit of a kick up the arse -’

‘Again,’ mused Peter.

‘…and pointed out we can’t fix the world with a Quidditch game. I think we made some sort of peace treaty. I don’t know. We’ll see if she still looks at me like I’m scum on her boots this evening.’ James shrugged, and gestured to the maps on the wall. ‘Which is why I pulled these out.’

‘Of _course_ you threw yourself into a sodding mental project for _Evans_ ,’ sighed Sirius.

James fiddled with his wand. ‘Sort of. But it’s sort of - we’ve screwed around, guys, a lot. And it’s fun. No regrets. But shit’s getting serious, isn’t it? Not just outside the school, but inside the school. Mulciber’s a lunatic and he’s way more aggressive than Lestrange ever was. He’s attacked Macdonald, he beat up Corrigan; Snape kicked off on younger kids. Everything’s changing. Everything’s getting worse.’

‘It is,’ agreed Remus quietly.

‘And it’s not just us who noticed it. Evans has, you’ve seen her not hanging out on the sidelines any more, she’s getting involved even if it gets her punched in the face. Some smart-arse prick’s writing this _Gutters_ thing and taking chunks out of the Mulcibers, out of Drake, out of _Dumbledore_. And I might have made the Quidditch match a big deal, but everyone fell in on one side or the other, didn’t they?’

‘Oh no,’ sighed Peter. ‘This is your “we’re about to do something stupid” build-up, isn’t it.’

‘No,’ said James, and straightened. ‘The opposite. We’re done doing stupid things. We’re going to finish this map, not so we can piss around, but so we can keep track of the Slytherins. So we can monitor Muggle-borns. So we can do what the school isn’t doing and help keep people safe, and stick it to the guys like Mulciber. I was wrong, I couldn’t fix the school with a sports game. But I think it’s time we stop pissing around and step up.’

‘Why,’ said Peter, ‘so you can impress Evans?’ He lifted his hands at the accusing looks. ‘Hey, I’m not judging. Beat up Mulciber, save the innocents, win the girl. Sounds heroic. I’m in.’

Remus gave a thin smile. ‘Do you even need to ask? It’s abundantly clear I can’t do the good I’ve wanted to as a prefect.’

James looked to Sirius at last, and he hesitated when their eyes met. _This isn_ _’t about impressing Evans_ , Sirius thought, jaw tight. _Not even sure this is about doing the right thing_. He’d watched James for years, since the beginning of school when everyone had expected so very much of the golden Potter child, son of a genius and an ancient family, for the two of them had rebelled against their lineage just as hard. Sirius’s rebellion had been in _not_ being an arse, in rejecting his family’s ideology, their prejudice. James, for his part, had just refused to live up to all expectations, and blazed his own path of irreverent brilliance so as to not be compared to his family - and now his family was breaking. Sirius wasn’t sure if his best friend was trying to return to the road-map his father had laid out or exceed him, build something newer and better. He suspected James wasn’t sure.

Sirius gave a lopsided smirk. ‘Oh, I’m in. Even if you’re wrong.’

James raised his eyebrows. ‘We can do this, Pads -’

‘Course we can. There’s just one thing.’ Sirius beamed. ‘There is _no_ way we’re done doing stupid things.’

§

‘That plant had it in for me,’ Jack grumbled as the three of them tromped along muddy paths back from the Herbology greenhouses up to the castle.

‘It did seem awfully interested in throttling you to death,’ Dory agreed.

Lily shrugged. ‘Maybe you need to approach it more carefully.’

‘Carefully? We were _trimming_ the bloody thing. What am I supposed to do, wander up and go, “scuse me, Mister Plant, can I slice you up good and proper? Ta.”’

‘Yes,’ said Dory, beaming. ‘Do _exactly_ that. And do a little bow first.’

Jack looked flatly at Lily. ‘Can we feed her to the plant next time?’

‘It’s tempting.’ Lily raised her hands at Dory’s look of plaintive outrage. ‘I’m _sorry_. Jack, you’re just better at this stuff than us. Honestly, Herbology isn’t my best subject.’

‘By which she means she might _only_ get an _E_ in her NEWT, _if_ she’s ill on the day of the exam,’ sighed Dory, ‘and thus bring dishonour upon her father and her father’s father and her father’s father’s father -’

‘Oh, shut up.’ Laughing, Lily went to swat Dory around the ear, but she ducked and swung around to put Jack between them.

‘Don’t bring me into this! I’m already your bloody labourer, I don’t need to be the shield, too!’

Dory grabbed Jack’s arm and peered over his shoulder, latched on to him like a demented, blue-haired gremlin. ‘Protect me, Jack, she’s gone all crazy nerd.’

There were worse ways to get on with life, Lily reflected as she rolled her eyes at them. In the aftermath of the Quidditch game, the best word for the school’s situation was _quiet_. There had been no outright recriminations from Randal Mulciber, no threatening action or attacks or even particular bullying. Lily was left with the uncomfortable impression that this was because he’d _won_ , or felt like he had. He and his cronies could walk the corridors without challenge or upset, sneering down at all they passed, and not a single person felt inclined to get in their way, challenge their words. Muggle-borns left, right and centre had gone to ground, either stayed out of the way of the Slytherins and their allies or stuck themselves to those who could shield them. She’d seen even Wick keep his mouth shut when he and Nathaniel had passed Amycus Carrow and a pack of his braying followers, and despite the sick twist in her gut, she couldn’t blame him.

After all, she’d not stepped up either.

‘What happened to _summer_?’ Dory wailed once they were back inside, mud trailing them down the corridors. ‘It was a lovely summer, Red, make it come back.’

‘I can control the weather now? It didn’t rain on us. Take that as a victory.’

‘Your victories are lousy,’ she complained, kicking her boots against a flagstone to knock off dirt. ‘You think getting an interesting Charms essay is a victory.’

‘We can _create matter_ , Dory! Why do wizards think this is _perfectly goddamn normal_ -’ But her tirade on the laws of physics were cut off as they rounded the corner and she almost walked flat into James Potter.

He side-stepped, irksomely deft, and flashed a smile. ‘Ah, Evans. I thought I heard the dulcet tones of you losing your shit.’

‘Here we go again,’ Lily heard Dory groan behind her.

She gritted her teeth, forcing a smile. ‘You were looking for me, Potter?’

‘What, not even a growl for me?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You feeling alright?’

‘Well, my day was considerably brighter about ten seconds ago, but since you showed up like a bad smell -’

‘There it is.’ He beamed. ‘Just making sure the world wasn’t about to end. But, yeah. I figured we need to meet up. That is, if you’re still serious.’

She frowned. ‘Of course I’m serious. But we’ll need a place.’

Potter’s grin widened. ‘Your dorm or mine?’

Dory slunk up next to Jack, voice dropping to a stage whisper. ‘What the ever-loving hell is going on?’

‘Hilarious,’ Lily drawled to James, ignoring her. ‘We can’t use _your_ dorm, you’d never drive off your little coterie.’

He glanced at Dory. ‘But you want _your_ coterie to join in?’

‘Oh my God.’ Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I’ve got Muggle Studies after lunch. I’ll eat quickly and meet you there before class, okay?’

Potter stepped back and gave an exaggerated bow. ‘I’ll count down every millisecond until we are reunited,’ he said, then swept off.

Lily sighed, then turned back to find Jack and Dory staring at her, jaws dropped. ‘What?’

Jack worked his mouth wordlessly, so it was Dory who finally spoke up. ‘I only have three questions,’ she said, raising a hand to count them off on her fingers. ‘What? The? Fuck?’

‘What? It’s Potter. We talk sometimes.’

‘No,’ said Jack delicately, ‘you _bitch_ at each other sometimes.’

She sighed. ‘I talked to him after the Quidditch game.’

‘And… hooked up?’

‘No! We just talked.’ Lily planted her hands on her hips. ‘Sometimes I just talk to people, you know.’

‘Sure,’ said Dory. ‘And sometimes I just make tiny jests - oh no, wait, I’m _hilarious_ and _you_ bitch at people.’

‘Christ,’ grumbled Jack. ‘Let’s just get lunch.’

There would be no living with them after this, Lily knew, so she stayed quiet once they’d planted themselves at the foot of the Gryffindor table and let Dory regale the crowd with Jack’s epic battle against the Spider-Vine while he glared good-naturedly and she picked at her food, watching the masses.

It was a quieter crowd than usual. Gryffindor chose their words, chose their stories. Only certain people piped up, only certain comments got laughed at. And every now and then there was a burst of uproarious laughter from across the Great Hall, the Slytherin table exploding with jubilation. She watched as Saul Avery made a joke that made Osmond Flint laugh so hard he went red, as Randal Mulciber gave a jeering comment between tables at Nathaniel McKinnon which went unanswered by the Ravenclaw mob, as Amycus Carrow leered at Julia Bray, Ravenclaw Muggle-born the Slytherins had targeted before, as she passed the table, and nobody stopped them. They were, after all, victorious. The only one not posturing and preening, or throwing his weight around, was Graham Mulciber. Except over the last few days he’d had Alecto Carrow draped over him like a spoil of war, and today was no different.

She shoved the rest of her sandwich down her throat. ‘I’m off.’

Dory raised her eyebrows. ‘To your illicit meeting -’

‘It’s _nothing_ ,’ she said flatly, ‘and I’d ask you to not be hilarious in a way I’d have to explain to Wick later when I’ve done _nothing wrong_?’

She did deflate at that. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’ll explain later,’ Lily promised, and left.

Potter hadn’t been at lunch, Remus sat with Pettigrew and Black, for once, with Marlene, so she’d crammed a sandwich in a napkin in her pocket before leaving. Going this early meant the corridors were quiet, at least, so when she got to the Muggle Studies classroom to see Potter’s lanky shape lounging against the door, there was nobody around to spot them and give Dory more fuel for ridiculous commentary.

‘Eat,’ was all she said by way of greeting, shoving the sandwich into his hands, and added at his confused expression, ‘You skipped lunch.’

‘Aw, Evans, you _do_ care.’ He grinned, then more or less inhaled the sandwich before saying, crumbs spraying, ‘Let’s talk.’

She rolled her eyes as they ducked inside. ‘What makes you think we need to hold a committee?’

‘You and me don’t make a committee,’ Potter pointed out, perching on one of the desks in the empty Muggle Studies classroom. ‘More like some championship planning.’

They’d made a deal, she remembered, and let out a slow breath to try to purge the irritation he always raised in her. ‘How’re you doing?’

His gaze, too, softened, and he shrugged. ‘I told the guys.’

‘How’d that go?’

‘Like applying a healing charm. Do it really quick and it hurts, but then it’s better.’ He cocked his head. ‘Was it the same for you?’ But she hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Corrigan and Meadowes don’t _know_?’

‘I’ve only been friends with them since September -’

‘Does _Wick_ know?’

‘He knows _some_.’ She folded her arms across her chest at his accusing expression. ‘This isn’t _about_ me, Potter -’

‘I’m just - you did _me_ a solid by talking about it, so I’m wondering why _you_ _’re_ hiding it from your friends -’

‘Because the only one I told before was _Severus_!’

That stopped him short, his hands dropping, and she watched his expression shift and change. Shock, to disgust at Snape, to what she knew was him biting back some Snivellus comment to, finally, sympathy. ‘And then he went and did - I mean, the Lake -’

‘ _Yes_.’ She wrapped her arms around herself, studying his left shoulder. ‘You’ve got people you can count on, _have_ counted on for years. I mean, Black might be the world’s biggest brat, but Remus is a good guy and - my point is, you’re lucky. Don’t lose sight of that.’

His gaze dropped. ‘I wasn’t trying to take them for granted. Or make you feel bad. I’m sorry.’

She drew a deep breath. ‘I really didn’t ask you how you were to talk about _me_. I’m glad you could speak with them. You seem - you’ve seemed better.’

‘All I can do, really, is move forward from Saturday. Even if the Slytherins have somehow managed to be more obnoxious without necessarily being louder.’

‘I worry it’s the calm before the storm,’ Lily agreed, finally going to sit on a desk across from him. ‘The moment Mulciber thinks he’s losing the momentum from this, he’s going to start acting out.’

‘And even if he doesn’t, you’ve seen how people are. Wandering around, heads down. Nobody dares speak out. Even your Wick hasn’t released another _Gutters_ since then.’

She frowned. ‘Wick isn’t writing _Gutters_.’

Potter blinked at that. ‘Are you sure? I was dead certain it was him.’

‘I was with him when Jeddler first brought us a copy. He was with me in Hogsmeade all day when someone put it across _all_ the common rooms.’

‘He could have had an accomplice.’

‘I saw his surprise - I mean, I don’t know him inside and out yet, but I’m pretty sure it was genuine. Honestly, I wondered if it was you guys, or at least Remus -’

‘I was with Remus and Peter all day. Sirius was with Marlene.’

‘Well.’ Lily pursed her lips. ‘I guess that leaves us some mysterious other party sort of on our side.’

‘Only sort of?’

‘I’m all in favour of gunning for the Mulcibers and Drake, but going after Dumbledore like that was _cold_ , even if I’m not thrilled with him either. And going after Baddock? She might be insufferable, but are we really putting her stupid antics in the same category as the rest? This is someone with a personal agenda as well as a political one.’

‘So they’re _not_ an ally.’

‘I’m saying we need to be careful until we know more.’ She gave a wry half-smile, then started at the sound of loud voices beyond the open door, down the corridor.

‘… _not_ acceptable _, Minerva_ -’

‘ _I quite agree, but there are realities we simply_ must _accept and deal with while the Headmaster is away - and I assure you, his business is perfectly important -_ ’

‘Shit,’ Lily hissed. ‘That’s Dearborn and McGonagall. We should -’

‘ _More important than the school? These students? He_ _’s waging a private bloody war outside and inside’s -’_

‘Not be caught listening to this,’ Potter finished flatly, and before she could protest he’d grabbed her by the wrist and lunged across the classroom to whisk them both into the book cupboard.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed the moment he’d closed the door behind them.

It was dark and close, so she didn’t have much space to wriggle against the grip he’d not released, and all she could do was pipe down at his urgent, ‘Shhh!’

Then McGonagall and Dearborn were in the classroom, and the door slammed shut behind them loud enough to make it clear this was _not_ a public conversation.

‘Perhaps,’ came McGonagall’s arch voice, ‘the corridor is not the place to discuss such things, Caradoc.’

‘Then where _do_ we discuss them? Not in the staff room; we can’t trust Drake for certain, and probably not Abernathy, and too many others are unknown. In your office? You’re always busy when I come by. What am I _supposed_ to be doing, Minerva?’ Neither teacher was yelling, but Lily could hear the tension in every syllable, that vehemence without volume.

‘ _Teaching_ , Caradoc. That’s why you’re here.’

‘I thought I was here because of what I believe in. So that school had people in it who would protect the students. But the moment I try to _act_ I come crashing against Abernathy, who wants everything to be _quiet_ and _not a problem_ and to just _go away_. Or against Drake, who ignores me and _nobody_ backs me up! Or Slughorn, who’s too terrified of angering the wrong people!’

‘Then set the example for the students. Show them the staff do not ignore them.’

‘I need you to _back me up_ -’

‘And _I_ need to _run this school_ , and keep it the safe haven Albus has always wished it could be.’

Dearborn’s scoff was audible even through the cupboard doors, as Lily tried to hold her breath and listen over the sound of her thudding heartbeat and what almost felt like Potter’s, too, far too close to her for comfort. ‘It is not a safe haven.’

‘I do not underestimate the harm the likes of the Mulcibers and Averys and formerly the Lestrangers can and have done,’ said McGonagall tersely, ‘but beyond these walls, Muggle-borns are tortured and murdered. Death Eaters would _jump_ at the chance for a full assault on Hogwarts’ students, and _that_ is what I protect them against. And it is what Albus protects them against, leading the Order outside against them.’

Lily drew a careful breath. ‘I really think,’ she whispered, ‘we shouldn’t be listening to this.’

‘What would you prefer?’ Potter breathed back. ‘Being caught with me in a cupboard like this?’

She wrinkled her nose at him, but Dearborn was talking again. ‘Abuses in this school are learnt and taken on beyond Hogwarts,’ he said. ‘And we are not enough here. We do not do enough.’

‘Then do more,’ came McGonagall’s simple answer, sharp and tense before a hesitation, and a softening. ‘It was not Albus’ idea to bring you back, Caradoc. It was mine. You know I cannot do this alone. But if you step up, bring the teachers in around you who will listen - give me a judgement to make, and I will support you. You _know_ that.’

There was a lull from Dearborn, and when he answered his voice was a low rumble, unhappy but accepting. ‘I know. It’s why I came back.’

In the gloom she could see Potter waggle his eyebrows. ‘Oh my,’ he breathed, and smirked. Lily smacked him on the arm as hard as she dared.

McGonagall cleared her throat. ‘Then perhaps we should be seen more in the staff room. Instead of letting Abernathy hold court.’

‘If you just need me to make some speeches, Minerva,’ came Dearborn’s drawling voice, and the sound of the door opening again, ‘simply say the word…’

Their voices trailed off down the corridor, but still neither Lily nor Potter moved, locked in place in the cupboard until all had drifted off into silence. And then she finally yanked her hand out of her grip and, with her elbow, shoved the cupboard door open. ‘Was that _really_ necessary?’

Potter stumbled out of the cupboard after her, smirking, hair a mess. ‘ _I_ enjoyed it. And let’s face it, we wouldn’t have heard anything _quite_ so interesting if we’d been caught lurking together in the classroom.’

_And Dory would have a field day once she heard._ ‘I hope you mean the politics and not gossiping about the teachers.’

‘It can be both!’ he said. ‘Both is good! Wouldn’t they be cute together -’

‘Oh my God.’ She tidied her hair as she turned to him. ‘The _important_ part was how I think we might just be alone, if even the teachers really _are_ fighting amongst themselves as badly as the students.’

‘The part I thought was important was Dumbledore and this “Order”,’ mused Potter, and shrugged. ‘But I guess there’s not much to do about that.’

‘I think that’s a problem for later,’ she pointed out. ‘In the meantime, _we_ have to figure something out.’

He turned back to her, head cocking. ‘What is this? The birth of the anti-Slytherin resistance?’

‘That was the other night. Or maybe with your Quidditch gambit.’

‘Or maybe with you getting punched by Mulciber.’

‘Good times,’ she sighed. ‘No, we need to get you back out, front and centre. Doing something like Wick’s trick with the music, show the Slytherins and everyone else you’re not beaten.’

‘Maybe.’ Potter’s nose wrinkled. ‘But don’t you think people are going to listen a bit better if _you_ _’re_ doing it? I’ll hoot and holler and get attention - I’m super good at that, you know - but _you_ _’re_ the Muggle-born. You’re the one with the personal stake in this. It’s your fight, and I’m - I’m not saying it’s nothing to me, of course it’s something to me, but - it’s not _about_ me.’ His lips thinned. ‘It’s about you, and Corrigan, and Mary, and Wick, and Bray, and all the rest, you know? Sirius and I and the others should be standing with you. Not the other way around.’

Her throat tightened as she watched him, and her breath caught along with a bubbling sensation in her chest she wasn’t used to, hadn’t felt before. So it took her a moment before she could answer, find her voice, and there was a faint croak when she finally said, ‘When did your head stop being full _entirely_ of sawdust, Potter?’

He beamed, and shrugged a one-shouldered shrug. ‘I could blame you,’ he said, ‘kicking me up the arse. Or you could maybe trust Remus saw something in me all along. He’s a good egg.’

‘He is.’ She swallowed. ‘So we need a plan. I say you go talk to your people. And I talk to mine. And in the meantime, we watch the Slytherins?’

His smile remained, but softened as he nodded. ‘I have something which might help with that, but it’s a work in progress. We’ll kick some arse, Evans.’ And with that, he turned to the door, letting her go wander towards her usual desk, because after all that it was almost time for class to start and the rest of the Muggle Studies NEWT students would show up soon.

But he was at the door before she heard him stop behind her, and it was only by the faintest edge in his voice that she was fast enough to react when he said, ‘Heads up!’

She spun, wand in hand even as he spat an incantation she barely had time to register the name of. It was only by the skin of her teeth that her deflection was fast enough, magic sparking between them as she shielded from the curse he’d flung, and she gaped, poised. ‘What the _hell_ , Potter!’

He grinned, twirling his wand in his fingers. ‘We _also_ agreed you’d learn how to scrap, Evans. Good reflexes. But you should have counter-attacked. We’ll work on it.’

Her jaw remained hanging. ‘So you decided to _randomly attack me_? I take back all the _sawdust_ comments!’

‘Good!’ Potter still beamed as he slipped his wand away. ‘Can’t have me hogging your limelight.’ And with that he was gone, whistling a jaunty tune to himself, and leaving her still clutching her wand with a thudding heart and a sinking wondering if she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake in this alliance.


	20. You Can Run

_I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees._   
_Down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees._   
_Asked the Lord above for mercy,_ _“Save me if you please.”_   
_-_ _‘Crossroads,’ Cream (1969)_   


He rose from the bed, straightening his robes that had become so rumpled in the diversion. ‘Blast. It’s three o’ clock.’

Alecto mock-pouted, flopping across the bedsheets and stretching out. ‘…and we just had a free period and now there’s _nothing_ until dinner. Come _on_ , Graham…’

He looked down at her, raven-black hair spread across emerald blankets like oil coiling into a sea turned green on an overcast day. The sight was only enough to curl his lip. ‘I should have been down at the stables with Muirne. It’ll be dark soon.’

‘Can’t you let that Mudblood thug of yours do it?’ she groaned.

The treacherous tension in his chest was smothered by burying a hand in her hair, burying his feelings in another kiss, an embrace that had her body rising up to meet his in an urge to stay, to _forget_. So he let her go just as her mouth opened under his, just as she was ready to submit again, and pulled back in her unbidden gasp. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing,’ he lied. ‘I do.’ He stood before she could summon a protest, picked up his outer robe from where it had been tossed into a dismissive pile an hour ago.

Relenting, Alecto sat up and began tidying her hair. ‘I’m not sure which of them demands your attention more than me - Hargreaves or the horse.’

‘Muirne,’ he blurted.

She smiled. ‘Then it _is_ the horse. Just as well.’

‘Oh,’ he said with the ghost of a smirk, facing her as he buttoned his shirt back up to his throat, ‘we’re bringing possessiveness into this, are we? I thought we were just each other’s prize.’

It was a strange, furtive tumble that had sent Alecto into his arms on Saturday after the match, and an even stranger one to send them both back. He’d known her for years, though forever in the shadow of her brother or Emmeline, and never stopped to look at her twice. He knew this second look meant little but a diversion, heady embraces to send the world and its woes packing, if only for a little while. More so, he’d thought her equally indifferent, diverted.

‘It’s a matter of _pride_ , Graham, if you prioritise some bloody horse over me,’ she said, smile still intact.

‘She _is_ a valuable purebred.’

‘So am _I_.’ But Alecto stopped fussing with her hair and began tidying her clothes, and was at once all business again. ‘Your brother seems better.’

He focused on his buttons. ‘Than what?’

‘Than before the match. With that awful _Gutters_ business.’

‘It was lies and -’

‘Graham, I’m not _actually_ jealous of a Mudblood and a horse, but give me a little credit.’ He looked up to find her raised eyebrows, accusing gaze. ‘I’m not Saul, slipping things up my sleeve and buoying you up, and I’m not my _brother_ , who I don’t think has had a thought Randal didn’t give him. Your father attempted some temperance. It’s no crime.’

He hesitated. ‘It is to some. Were you asking how Randal’s taking it, or how I am?’

She shrugged. ‘It can be both.’

Graham drew a deep breath, and again faltered. The words were there, the same he’d given to Hargreaves in the barn in the dark, but they balked like Muirne before her stall, skidding to a stubborn stop. Alecto professed to be different, but he’d seen no evidence of it; spoke of Saul slipping secrets up his sleeves, but Saul had always supported him. Was this a test? Taking the temperature for herself, for her brother, for _his_ brother? If there was one thing he knew of Alecto Carrow since she’d sidestepped Emmeline’s shadow, it was that she was relentless, and she was _hungry_.

And there were all manner of people, including just herself, who would value insights into what lay behind his silences.

He shrugged. ‘Someone dug up the worst of my father and tried to use it to undermine Randal. The match has set everything back into balance.’ Without looking at her, he finished dressing again. ‘I need to get down to the stables.’

She didn’t stop him from leaving, and he didn’t stop to put on his proper outdoors gear, even if that promised muddy shoes. The common room was quiet, filled only with the NEWT students enjoying a free period until the end of other classes, and his ascent from the dormitories won altogether more peering gazes than expected. Saul threw him a wink and a nod, perhaps too jubilant on his behalf about a fumble in the dorms, but his gaze fell, guiltily, to the solitary shape of Emmeline, sat reading in a corner. From her he was granted only the slightest flicker of a glance, and that was enough to set his guts to a spiral of shame before he could hurry out.

It was his day to tend to Muirne, take her out for exercises, but as he descended the slopes to the stables he could see her dark shape in the paddock, running circles on a lunge rope around a tall figure, and picked up the pace when he realised Hargreaves had come to do his job for him. Muirne was still a skittish beast, adjusting to her new environment and them both, and so he kept his gait light and quiet as he approached the ring.

Hargreaves had gone, he observed as he slipped to the paddock fence, unnoticed, from awkward and uncertain around the beast to easy and assured. Hers was a simple, forthright nature, and while this was no insightful observation it made her good with horses. There were no sudden movements and no hesitant weaknesses, and Graham had watched over the weeks as both horse and girl increased in confidence. Even now as she worked with Muirne on the lunge rope, her back to him for the moment, her manner was easy, using voice as well as body language to urge her on, calm and level.

When she rotated on the circuit enough to spot him, lounged against the fence, he received only a cool nod before she carried on, and it took another few minutes before they finished their work and she let Muirne’s trot come to a lumbering halt. ‘I thought you’d be down here earlier.’

‘I was supposed to be,’ he agreed, swinging over the fence to join her. ‘But I’m here now. I was going to do that. You’re with her tomorrow.’

She shrugged. ‘I was bored.’

‘You’re good with her. She can throw tantrums sometimes, you don’t let her.’ He padded over to Muirne, and reached out to let her snuffle his palm with her soft, velvety nose. ‘A lot of people coming to horses for the first time treat them like dogs. They’re not; they’re herd animals. They follow the leader and if that leader’s not strong, they keep challenging them. So you have to keep control, and that helps them relax.’

‘Are you talking about Muirne,’ drawled Hargreaves, ‘or Slytherins?’

He smirked before he could stop himself. ‘I’m not sure it’s exclusive to Slytherins. People want to be led.’

‘Even more Slytherin logic. Is that one of your brother’s nuggets of wisdom?’ She started to roll up the lunge rope, joining him at the periphery of the paddock with Muirne.

‘He’s not wrong. If you’re not led, you have to make your own choices, and most people find that scary. They’re afraid of choosing, they’re afraid of being _wrong_ , so if someone tells them what to do, it lets them off the hook.’

‘So that’s what you’re doing, listening to him.’

‘It’s what you do, listening to Fletcher.’

She met his gaze for a heartbeat, then snorted. ‘So do you got Carrow draping herself over you because of the herd, or…?’

Muirne tossed her head with her own snort, and he looked at the horse with a critical, evasive eye. ‘She’s frustrated,’ he said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t talking about Alecto. ‘She wants to fly. I think it’s about time we let her.’

That made Hargreaves hesitate. ‘On the lunge -’

‘No, she might drag you away. She needs riding. The Rothachs sent down tack with her, if you wanted to go first.’

‘ _Me_? I barely know how to sit her, and if she needs training…’

‘Oh, she’s been ridden on the farm. It’s still just about making sure she doesn’t fly off and try to go _back_ there.’ He brightened. ‘We should both do it.’

‘What - can she even -’

‘She’s not a normal horse; even at her age she’s stronger. And flying with a horse for the first time in a new place is a bond, and she needs to trust us _both_.’ It was true, but he had to accept this was not the only reason. He’d flown a thousand times by broom and by horse, and important as it would be to ride Muirne for the first time, it was not his experience to claim alone. ‘How are you on a broom?’

‘I don’t _own_ a broom,’ she said guardedly, and he heard the unspoken, that brooms were expensive enough even if you weren’t Muggle-born.

‘Yes, but flying training in first year -’

‘We barely went six feet off the ground -’

‘ _Excellent_ ,’ he declared. ‘Hold her and wait here.’

New as it was, the tack was supple leather. He’d been sure to care for it over the weeks since its arrival, the bridle and halter used while the saddle had sat to gather dust without his ministrations. He knew how the Rothachs trained their yearlings, had received the letters sent with Muirne; they would not send them some completely fresh beast, and these creatures were bolder, smarter and stronger than their mundane counterparts. Muirne could handle them both, and it would do them, all three of them, good to share this experience.

So he pushed back Alecto’s words in the dormitory as he gathered the tack, as he returned to buckle Muirne up with Hargreaves finally showing flickers of indecision even as she stood stone-faced. By now he could read her like the horse, see the way she shifted her feet, because he’d had to watch her for any sign of weakness in handling the creature before. ‘Stop fidgeting,’ he said as he tightened the girth. ‘She’ll feel it.’

‘I don’t -’

He turned to her. ‘We don’t have to.’

Most girls were a good deal shorter than him, but not so Amy Hargreaves, almost of a height and so deliberate and collected with it. Still as stone or flowing like water, but now the surface rippled. ‘You said it was important for her.’

‘For you, too.’ Checking everything one last time, he slipped a foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Muirne tossed her head but did not object, and at once he felt the rising light in him, the surge that came from flight - but on a beast, it was beyond anything he could harness from a broom, which was just him and wits and magic. This was magic and beast and _unity_ , something else entirely. His unbidden smile was so wide he saw it make Hargreaves hesitate, and on an impulse he extended a hand. ‘I promise you have never seen anything like this.’ Again she hesitated, and words bubbled inside him, words not from the dank Slytherin dungeons but the coasts of home, the raging sea and howling wind and heady heights of all the world’s madness and might. ‘That’s why you’re a Ravenclaw, isn’t it; not dusty books or ancient academia. You want to _see_.’ He didn’t know where the insight came from, didn’t know when he’d stopped to wonder why the world’s worst Ravenclaw was a Ravenclaw at all, but it came to him with the whispers of the skies.

She looked startled, not hesitant - then her face set, and she took his hand.

‘Hold on - the mane, the saddle, _me -_ it’s fine,’ he urged once she was settled before him. Without thinking he let his hold on the reins include a hold on _her_ , too, and barely waited before his heels touched Muirne’s flanks and urged her not onward, but _upward_ -

‘ _Shit_ ,’ he heard Hargreaves breathe as Muirne burst forward at once, craving this as they did, thundering across the paddock before her wings burst outward before Hargreaves’ legs. Taking flight felt like a leap that never ended, Muirne lunging upwards to escape the ground that had bound her for too long, _far_ too long and freeing them both with it.

Wind rushed by, rumpled his hair, hit him in the face, and he felt Hargreaves tense before him. ‘Relax,’ he urged, but the word came out with a laugh as Muirne flapped her wings and soared higher, higher. Below them the paddock faded, the stables faded, and though the skies were overcast on this late autumn afternoon, they were embraced all the same. ‘She’ll take care of us.’

‘I don’t - bloody hell -’ Hargreaves was breathless with the shock, and the surge in his chest only rose. ‘Are you _sure_?’

They rushed over the stable, then over the edges of the woodland, browns and greens surging beneath them like an ocean. He felt the tension still running through Muirne, felt her want to soar and dip and pin-wheel, but in deference to Hargreaves he kept her in hand, kept her level. ‘Not at all! Isn’t this better?’

‘Do you get more _crazy_ the more you fly?’

_So Lin would tell me_. He slowed his breathing. ‘We can come down.’

‘No,’ said Hargreaves at once, and he could feel her relaxing along with Muirne, feel her grip on the beast become less iron-tight. ‘No, this is - we don’t get things like this - I’ve never -’

‘Flown before,’ he finished, head spinning. ‘Everyone should try this. Everyone should _see_ this. It makes everything fade away, doesn’t it? Up here there’s nothing but you. It’s freedom. Everyone should have it.’

‘Sure. If you can afford it.’ But her guarded bitterness had faded away, too, for something altogether more lost and breathless.

Muirne swerved away from the Forbidden Forest at his urging, and picked up speed for the next circuit of the stables and paddocks. He didn’t dare take them further; into the forest would risk trouble, and closer to the castle might raise questions, and it was still Muirne’s first flight at Hogwarts, still something to keep controlled while she found her bearings. ‘This isn’t just money,’ he said. ‘If she didn’t trust us, she’d be giving us hell; you can’t buy that. And what you see when you look down - if you’ve got the heart for it to mean something - you can’t buy that.’ He wondered what his brother saw when he flew, wondered if he felt freedom or was more a king surveying his domain, and then abruptly stopped himself from wondering, lest the bonds of common earth rise up to drag him back down.

‘I live in Ravenclaw Tower,’ Hargreaves pointed out. ‘I’m used to the view.’

‘Then what do you see there? And is it anything like _this_?’ On an impulse fuelled by her cynicism, he pressed an ankle to Muirne’s flank and urged her on a sweeping dive downward, wings beating for a sudden burst of speed.

‘ _Son of a_ -’ But her oath cut off with breathless wonder, not, he fancied, true shock or true horror, and the laugh that followed once she got her breath back couldn’t be faked.

There was only so long it was wise to keep an inexperienced horse flying with two riders, though, so he let this descent be the last and guided Muirne back to the paddock, keeping her in hand for as smooth a landing as could be managed in her excitable state. She would calm down soon, he knew, once the joy of flight faded and she realised how tired she was, but for the moment the horse tossed her head and snorted as he brought her to a halt, and so he did not release the reins as he let Hargreaves slide to the ground first.

‘So how was that?’ Graham asked once he, too, landed, still unable to fight the smiles to which he was so unaccustomed if around people, because he rarely flew _with_ people.

She had been smiling, but this was the ground, and all of its troubles couldn’t rush away forever. He saw them creep in first at the corners of her eyes, then watched as her smile lost its shine, a mere echo of the jubilation of freedom, and her voice lost warmth as she said, ‘Why did you do that?’

His head still spun enough to ignore the signs, though. ‘Take you with me? I told you, it’ll do Muirne both to trust us -’

‘Why do you _care_ if she trusts _me_?’

The flash in her eyes was like being shoved to his knees, and his smile collapsed as his head stopped spinning. ‘I thought we had an understanding. And _you_ understood what that meant, up there; your eyes aren’t clouded like so many people’s.’ Perhaps it was that simple, he wondered; merely that he’d had the opportunity to _show_ someone, and perhaps it was as simple as that she’d followed and watched.

Amy Hargreaves stepped back, planting her hands on her hips, and looked away with a long, frustrated sigh. ‘You reckoned I’m a Ravenclaw because I want to _see_. You’re half-right. I _did_ want to. I grew up in a shithole and suddenly found out I was a _witch_ and that there was _magic_ and then I weren’t stuck in Brixton no more, I was travelling to a magic fucking castle in Scotland and a _talking hat_ was asking me what I wanted. It offered me a place with good friends, it offered me a place to stand up, it even offered me somewhere to _prove myself_ , but you know what I asked for?’

Graham swallowed, throat drying. ‘To see.’

Her lip curled. ‘To see it _all_. You know what I _got_?’ She didn’t let him answer, which was for the best as he couldn’t put into words the sudden howling guilt. ‘I got “ _fuck off, Mudblood_ ”, I got books written for people been _raised_ in this culture, I got teachers who didn’t care how to teach a girl from Muggle Brixton with Jamaican parents, I got price tags in galleons I couldn’t afford. So I stopped trying to _see_ , ‘cos what’s the point, ‘cos this world don’t _want_ me to see, and it’s because of people like your brother, because of people like _you_ -’

When she stepped forward and squared off against him, he wasn’t sure she knew she was doing it. So he took a step back and raised his hands. ‘Calm down, Hargreaves -’

‘And _you_ stand by your brother and the rest, and beat us in the game and still swan around with Carrow like your victory prize! So don’t do all that _shit_ to people like me and then talk to me like I’m some kind of _exception_ -’ She shoved his shoulder and he rocked back, but that startled Muirne. The Granian let out a snort and jerked back, and in his surprise Graham’s grip on the reins wasn’t tight enough.

Muirne danced back, hooves skittering across the sands of the paddock, head tossing and wings spreading out and _that_ , at least, stopped Hargreaves short with surprise and guilt, and she stepped back. ‘Shit, I didn’t mean to -’

Graham turned away from her, hiding his expression, shifting his focus from her fury to a creature whose woes he _could_ soothe. ‘She’s young, she rattles,’ he said, voice harsher than he meant it. ‘I’ve got it; you go be angry somewhere it doesn’t upset her.’

He heard her hesitate, heard the sharp intake of breath. Then Hargreaves just said, ‘Fuck you, Mulciber,’ and stalked off, leaving him in the paddock with his howling guilt and Muirne, the beast who had been so joyous in the skies turned surly and skittish under the bonds of earth.

§

Fletch fancied herself a people-person. So she trusted her instincts, finely-tuned over long years of watching and learning, when they warned her Hargreaves was angry. After all, she’d just drop-kicked her satchel across the common room.

‘Oh, give it a _rest_ , Hargreaves,’ Shanti Dhawan drawled as she passed her in the doorway. ‘Be a melodramatic little brute somewhere -’

Fletch’s second clue Hargreaves was upset came when she grabbed Dhawan by the shoulder and slammed her into the wall. ‘You got a fuckin’ problem?’

‘Shit.’ Fletch shot to her feet and scuttled across the common room quick as she could. ‘Amy! Uh! Calm the hell down!’

This went unsurprisingly unheeded and she was not the first to the scene. Somehow Marlene was there, clutching her prefect’s badge like a shield, other hand flailing in desperate nerves. ‘Um, uh, Hargreaves, let her _go_ -’

‘ _Really_ , McKinnon?’ Hargreaves growled, not taking her eyes off the struggling Dhawan. ‘Cos she’s been a piece of shit to _you_ lately an’ I could knock her block off.’

Baddock reached the group at the same time as Fletch, gaze superior but frantic. ‘Oh, _please_ , Fletcher, control your pet thug.’

‘I’m _sorry_ , Baddock, were you talking to me?’ snapped Fletch, rounding on her. ‘Or did you want Finchley? Or Burke? Or the entire Quidditch team?’

Marlene’s hands flapped more. ‘You need to all settle -’

Dhawan finally got a solid grip on Hargreaves and shoved back, much to Fletch’s relief - because fighting back usually won Hargreaves’ respect enough to make her stop. ‘Let me _go_ , you _psycho_.’

Hargreaves did step back, lip curling, but she raised her hands like she was giving up, not about to reopen hostilities. ‘Good work having a _spine_ there, McKinnon. You’re a goddamn joke. All of you, goddamn jokes.’ Without another word she turned on her heel and stalked back out the tower, combat boots ringing out on the stone steps down.

Fletch ignored Marlene wilting, ignored the looks of panicked superiority between Dhawan and Baddock. ‘Cec! Get her bag,’ she called to Cecil over her shoulder, and shot down the tower stairs.

Hargreaves was tall and angry and took the steps two at a time, so even Fletch’s briefest delay meant they were out of the tower before she caught up. ‘Hey, Har - _Amy_ \- wait!’

She didn’t stop. ‘I’m not done being pissed at _you_ , neither, Fletch.’

‘Is this _still_ about the Quidditch match?’ said Fletch, having to trot to keep up.

‘You say that like it means nothing. Maybe you weren’t wrong, but you still - _we_ still stole that game.’

Fletch took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. Hargreaves had lived in a state of simmering resentment for long years, bubbling into action only rarely. The fight last year between her and Corrigan had been brief and unexpected, but then again, he’d gone for Cecil. It was a long time since words alone had brought about violence, and she knew she was going to have to pick her own words carefully. ‘Mulciber won that game, not our info.’ The name-drop was intentional, and Fletch noted the flinch. ‘And I get why you’re angry, but - look, show me a _real_ cause, and I’ll throw my lot behind it. This wasn’t a cause. It was Potter’s ego-trip.’

‘Dhawan and Baddock wouldn’t have opened their traps like this two weeks ago -’

‘Dhawan and Baddock opened their traps because they’re uptight bitches, and they know McKinnon won’t do _shit_ against them. But you didn’t come into common room pissed off because of them, did you.’

Hargreaves came to a stop so sudden that Fletch took more sharp steps down the corridor before she realised. She turned back to see Hargreaves huff, put her hands on her hips, and with a sinking sensation realised the two of them never did much talk about serious feelings, serious issues, and she had no idea how to make her open up on something _really_ bothering her. ‘I didn’t,’ Hargreaves accepted. ‘It’s just stupid.’

Fletch picked at her sleeve. ‘Yeah, but you’ve been extra wound up lately. What’s _wrong_?’

‘Nothing nobody can do nothing about,’ Hargreaves growled, anger directed at the walls, the corridor, a nearby painting - anywhere which meant she didn’t have to look Fletch in the eye.

‘I’m not exactly Captain Hugs, but I hear repression makes you die from stomach ulcers. It’s Mulciber, isn’t it. Graham.’

Hargreaves kicked at the floor. ‘He took me flying on Muirne today.’

‘What a prick.’

‘Of _course_ he is,’ she blurted. ‘A Slytherin and a pure-blood and a _Mulciber_. Of course he’s like all the fucking rest, so it _pisses_ me off when he pretends to be nicer. ‘Cos either he’s being a two-faced liar and is being decent when he thinks I’m scum, or he’s an idiot who thinks I’m not scum, just everyone who’s remotely _like_ me is scum and don’t see the hypocrisy.’

Fletch didn’t know Graham Mulciber very well. She’d dealt with Avery all the years, whose easy charm and smiles made it easier to pretend he didn’t hate her at best, dismiss her at worst. Graham Mulciber had been his shadow, oozing with superior disapproval, and she’d never tried to play him because she’d never needed to. That he’d given Hargreaves, who was basically every pure-blood’s worst nightmare of unpolished, Muggle-born, working class, _immigrant_ anger, so much as the time of day had come as a dull surprise from the start. ‘Maybe it’s time to see about changing partners.’

‘Then I need to come into someone else’s project partway through, or do my _own_ project, and then I got to do it solo _and_ get an animal -’

‘Do you really need a Care of Magical Creatures NEWT? It’s only November, Har, you could come bullshit with me in Divination.’

‘I could.’ The angry glimmer in Hargreaves’ eyes flickered, a glint of light curling up and dying at the suggestion. All of a sudden, Fletch remembered her reaction to the text book she’d handed over at the beginning of the year, and guilty tension coiled in her gut.

‘Or, _hey_ , if you want to keep it up,’ Fletch pressed on, ‘I will find you the best goddamn animal you need for this project.’

The corner of Hargreaves’ lip curled in a very guarded, very _small_ smile. ‘Thanks,’ she grunted, off-handed, which made Fletch know she was genuinely grateful. ‘Don’t think it’s going to be possible. But - I’ll talk with the Prof.’

‘Yeah.’ Awkwardly, she patted her arm, knowing there would probably be no such discussion, no escape, no change. ‘We’ll sort it out. We always wriggle our way out of trouble, Har.’

Hargreaves gave a nod that was more dismissive bob of the head. ‘Just hate it when people turn out to be the shits we’re afraid they are.’

‘Everyone’s a bit of a shit, really.’

‘Are they?’ She looked up. ‘Or do we just say that so we don’t have to pretend we’re better?’

‘Fletch!’

She was, for just a heartbeat, ready to fall on her knees in gratitude to a higher power for providing an interruption to such an unhelpful, piercing question from her best friend. And then Fletch realised the new arrival calling her name was Sirius Black, whose information she’d taken to help _his_ best friend get beaten in the most important Quidditch game of his school career, and with a sinking heart she remembered the higher powers hated her after all.

Hargreaves looked between them and straightened, and like that all awkward vulnerability and angry uncertainty was gone for her usual cool dismissal. ‘I bet you two need to talk numbers,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Fletch tried to not flinch as she walked off, and forced herself to take a moment to paste her smile, perfect and whimsical and welcoming, before she turned to face Sirius. ‘Black! I was looking for you. Unless you wanted McKinnon, in which case, common room.’

Sirius wore his easy smile that was so infectious. ‘Marlene? No, no, you’re _exactly_ who I’m looking for. Always and forever, Fletch.’

‘Uh-huh. Does she know that?’ She glanced up and down the corridor. ‘But let’s not talk _here_ , or people are going to get all suspicious.’

He fell into step with her, smirking. ‘And I thought everything we did was above-board.’

‘Oh, _my_ conscience is clear,’ Fletch lied. ‘But teachers might oppose certain extra-curriculars.’

‘And aren’t those always the most _fun_?’

She blew her fringe out of her eyes as they ducked into a stairwell. ‘Doesn’t always end the way you’d hope it would.’

‘True,’ said Sirius, and sobered. ‘This one didn’t.’

Fletch swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry the match didn’t go Potter’s way.’

‘No, you’re not,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘I saw the way the betting was going. You’d have been smeared by a Gryffindor win.’

‘I’d have made it back on other matches.’ She dug about for her coin purse, and tried to ignore the taste of bile in her throat. ‘Still, I owe you your cut for the information.’

‘For what good it did. James had to change up his play pretty much at once, didn’t he; Slytherin were crawling all over them.’

‘And he was better than I expected. I should have given Gryffindor better odds.’ In some ways, it was for the best she’d rigged the game. She’d sorely underestimated Gryffindor’s capabilities, even without cheating. And then she felt the heavy galleons in her pouch, the ones Avery had given her for passing on the information, and it was like hitting a brick wall.

Sirius cocked his head. ‘What’s up?’

‘I - nothing,’ she lied. ‘It just feels kind of rotten paying you when you guys lost.’

‘Better than losing and _not_ getting paid.’

She scrambled for sickles, not galleons, and, stalling, said, ‘How _is_ Potter?’

‘He’s okay. He’s lost games before,’ said Sirius, obviously not telling the whole of it, and that suited her fine. ‘You sure you’re alright?’

‘Yes!’ Her fist emerged from the pouch, triumphantly holding coins. ‘Here we go. Your share.’

‘Great. Same again, next term? Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game’s gonna -’

‘No.’ Fletch clamped her mouth shut, but the refusal had spilt out already, unbidden. ‘I mean - I’m not -’

‘You’re not taking bets any more? You made a _killing_.’

‘I’m taking bets,’ she said, tongue numb and yet working of its own accord, because she’d not thought about anything she was saying. ‘I’m just not - I mean, do you really need the money?’

Sirius wilted. ‘No, but that’s not so much why I do it. I mean, it’s _fun_ , Fletch, isn’t it?’

_Fun, right until I sell your information to your enemies. Fun, right until I rig the game so your best friend loses. Fun, right until I_ _’m selling out my friends -_ ‘What would Marlene think?’

He flinched. ‘Hey, low blow - I don’t know what she’d think about it, she’s not as much of a stick-in-the-mud -’

‘So you’ve not _told_ her?’ Fletch wasn’t honestly sure what she was doing, but she’d found a loose thread to tug at, and so long as she kept pulling he wouldn’t be pushing.

‘It’s not that kind of relationship.’

‘The talking kind?’

‘The kind where I tell a prefect I help with a betting ring!’ He scowled. ‘Is that what this is about? You’re worried I’m going to tell Marls, and she’ll shut you down.’

‘Yes,’ Fletch lied. ‘I mean, she’s not _Lupin_ , she’s a real stickler for the rules, and you’re a _guy_. Sooner or later, you’re going to want to please her more than you’ll want to cover _my_ arse.’

‘We’ve been doing this for years, Fletch! You don’t trust me?’

‘It’s not that. But I never thought you’d go chasing after a nerd like McKinnon, so obviously my read on you isn’t as good as I thought it was.’

‘Look,’ said Sirius, sighing. ‘Marlene isn’t an idiot. She knows what I’m about. And she doesn’t ask for the details - it just works out better that way.’

‘And the day she does?’ She tilted her chin up a defiant half-inch, words all of a sudden feeling less like a frantic misdirection and something more honest that had crept up on her, not especially more welcome. ‘What do you tell her about you and me?’

‘I’m not going to get you in trouble,’ he said, brow creasing with hurt. ‘I know how things go with you and the teachers -’

‘A damn sight worse than they go with _you_ and the teachers.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Sirius groaned. ‘Don’t go all Evans on me, don’t play the downtrodden card, like I get an easy ride from McGonagall.’

‘Downtrodden?’ She had to give a bitter laugh. ‘Have you ever _actually_ been threatened with expulsion? Because I have, and let me tell you, that’s because the _Fletcher_ family isn’t going to the hoops for me like the Black family would for you.’

His jaw set. ‘Don’t you bloody assume anything about my family.’

‘Fine. But fact is, this is just a - a diversion for you, isn’t it? The bit of fun that’s _yours_ , not also Potter’s and Lupin’s and Pettigrew’s, and I don’t look down at you, or expect anything of you. But it’s more to me. This is _important_ to me, and more so, I will be so _screwed_ if this gets out.’ She’d made, Fletch knew on some distant level, a terrible mistake. While the best cons and misdirections were based on the truth, this kernel of honesty was far more virulent than she’d expected.

‘You know what? _Fine_.’ He stepped back, hands raised. ‘I don’t need this. Keep your money. I thought you were one of the few people who didn’t give me shit, Fletch.’ She watched the hurt in his face, the frustrated tension in his shoulders, and swallowed her apologies until he’d stormed off. And then she was alone in the stairwell with only the echoes of the argument for company.  
  
 _The ironic thing_ , she thought ruefully, _is that I did this so you_ wouldn’t _despise the very sight of me_.

§

‘Fighting practice.’ The corner of Wick’s lips curled as he walked Lily down the corridors back to the Gryffindor common room after dinner. ‘I assume with Potter we’re not talking about Queensberry rules.’

Lily laughed. ‘It’s more like self-defence.’

‘I thought you usually needed defence against _Potter_.’

‘Potter, I could always handle.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m just not sure I’m always going to get the chance to make a difference like you did - peaceful protest, without getting in trouble. The physical kind of trouble.’

‘I did get most horrendously manhandled by Filch. I could have done with some extra spells there. Mostly to get the ooze off my robes.’ He sighed. ‘I didn’t know you were planning on confronting Mulciber.’

‘I’m not exactly eager to get punched again. But he’s only going to ride the smug success of the Quidditch match for so long - nothing’s _changed_. So what do I do, next time he goes for Mary?’

‘Fetch help?’

‘From _who_?’ she pointed out. ‘Teachers who won’t be nearby? Prefects who don’t dare take action?’

‘Me?’

Lily bit her lip. ‘I thought you said Mulciber used to wipe the floor with you during OWL Defence lessons.’

‘Ah, but I would always get off several very _cutting_ remarks.’ Wick deflated. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be unhelpfully chivalrous. I can easily believe you’ll pick up proper combat principles than me. But standing back idly while you’re winding up for something like this - well, it’s _dangerous_ , Lily.’

‘It’s dangerous to just be a Muggle-born in the school. I thought you’d be in favour of this.’

‘I’m - I’m in favour of it _happening_ -’ he sputtered.

‘Just not in favour of me being the one doing it?’ She stopped, letting go of his hand to plant hers on her hip, and arched an eyebrow at him.

Wick lifted his hands. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to stop you, or dissuade you. And I suppose it’s rather patronising of me to ask if you’ve thought this through, because you think things through and also you’re angry enough right now that clearly you _have_. I am just going to _worry_.’

She softened, and reached for his hand again. ‘Someone has to do something for us, Wes.’

The fresh furrow in his brow was, she could tell by now, guilt. ‘I never wanted to tell Nate to go and fight our war for us. And until lately he and I - we always thought it wasn’t going to get serious until we _left_ school.’

‘It’s been getting worse, though. Mulciber’s a more overt lunatic than Lestrange. It’s not just Slytherins getting aggressive and dismissive - Hufflepuffs are getting worse, _Ravenclaws_ are getting worse -’

‘You don’t need to lecture me on that,’ he said, and she watched him flinch as it came out sharper than he likely intended. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’m in a better position than most. I’m protected by mere association with the McKinnons.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Aside from listening to me? Because _this_ helps.’ She squeezed his hand again. ‘Keep your ear to the ground. Let me know if Ravenclaws, if people you know, are getting hit with trouble. Or if they’re starting trouble.’

‘Ah, the intelligence branch of warfare.’ His wry smile crept back. ‘That sounds more like my division.’

They had taken, quite by intent, the needlessly long and meandering way back to the common room, pushing the boundaries of their time together before curfew kicked in and they had to return to their respective towers. This route had taken them down to the doors towards the Herbology greenhouses and back again, so now they were returning to the main doors and past the Great Hall - just in time to inadvertently intercept the Gryffindor Quidditch team, timely in their return to the castle after practice.

‘Lily!’ It was Mary who broke out from the group, bounding across the paving slabs with barely-contained exuberance, and dragging her into a hug that yanked her hand from Wick’s. ‘I made it! I got the spot!’

‘What -’

‘ _Seeker_!’ Her beam was brighter than the sconces as she pulled back. ‘James let me try out, but _I made Seeker_ -’

‘Yeah, and _now_ I’m going to need a new _Chaser_ , aren’t I.’ Potter appeared with the rest of the team, and reached out to ruffle Mary’s hair affectionately. ‘But you were right all along, and I was wrong. I think you’ll do better for the team there.’

Lily clutched at her chest in mock-astonishment. ‘Stop being humble, Potter; I can only take _so many_ heart attacks from shock.’

He smirked. ‘I better keep it up, then; I’m curious to see how much of a hammering a stone heart can take.’

‘Is this a point where I need to be unhelpfully chivalrous again,’ drawled Wick, looking between them, ‘or do I just hold your coat?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Like I said, I can handle Potter.’

‘ _Wick_ , old chum.’ Potter’s accent went clipped, a mimicry she thought _mostly_ good-natured, and he punched Wick on the arm. ‘When do you write another devastating take-down of the Mulcibers? Oh, I’m sorry, we’re meant to pretend _Gutters isn_ _’t_ you, so nobody can call you on your words.’

‘I assure you, it’s isn’t me. When I write something, I sign my name to it.’

‘That,’ said Potter, ‘sounds exactly like something someone hiding behind an anonymous paper would say.’

Lily saw a muscle in the corner of Wick’s jaw tense. ‘Good works take more than just standing up and shouting loudly. They also take results.’

She wasn’t sure it was an intentional jibe or one born from provocation, but she knew surrounded by the Gryffindor Quidditch team wasn’t the place for it. She touched Mary’s arm. ‘We’re coming up on curfew. Best be off.’

Mary had also grabbed Potter, who stopped glaring at Wick long enough to wave a hand back to the team. ‘Yeah! Save your vim and vigour for third term, so we can kick Ravenclaw then.’

Lily lingered behind only long enough to give Wick a warning look. ‘That wasn’t very diplomatic.’

‘Neither was he,’ Wick pointed out. ‘ _Gutters_ might not be me, but does he remember or _care_ about the music? What sacrifice did _he_ make for us, or did he just turn our bloody cause into being all about him and his _ego_ -’

She had to stand on tip-toes to kiss him, but it was enough to shut him up. ‘James Potter is an arrogant toe-rag,’ she agreed softly. ‘But I don’t want you to get beaten up by the Gryffindor team.’

‘It would be fairly socially awkward for you,’ he said, but he was smiling. ‘You better go catch up, or you’ll have to dock yourself points for being out after curfew.’

‘And you’re not in danger?’

‘I have enough dirt on Nate to get away with murder. Though not, I assure you, with _Gutters_.’

‘I didn’t say it was you.’ She kissed him again. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast.’

Lily did have to jog to catch up with the Gryffindor team, the most buoyant she’d seen them since the game. Mary’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Lily couldn’t help but smile back, but still she had to rush to the front of the procession to fall into step next to Potter. ‘You didn’t need to be like that.’

‘He was a prick,’ Potter replied coolly.

‘ _After_ you accused him of being a coward. You remember that time he got detention -’

‘For playing music? I’ve had detention a thousand times and nobody calls _me_ a hero for it.’ But Potter harrumphed and rolled a shoulder. ‘ _Fine_. I still think he wrote _Gutters_ , though.’

‘I believe he didn’t, and if he _has_ , he’d have to be anonymous or he’d run the risk of getting bloody well expelled! That’s not cowardice; not every brave deed needs you yelling your name to the rooftops. _Who dares wins_ ,’ she added to the Fat Lady as they reached the portrait, the password, she felt, somewhat ruining the effect of her argument. ‘Sometimes it takes more courage to be an _unsung_ hero. Also, can our peace treaty extend to my boyfriend? He never did anything to _you_.’

‘We have a peace treaty?’ But his voice went lighter as they entered the Gryffindor common room. ‘Fine. His lordship gets a break.’

‘You’re the heir to a _haircare_ fortune, Potter, I don’t think you get to play the rebellious lower class in this,’ she pointed out.

Dory walked over and looked between them. ‘Wow. I think you two got on better when Lily used to just storm off.’

‘Dory!’ Mary lunged past them to grab her arms, and any petty bickering was forgotten and ignored in the face of her exuberance. ‘I did it! I made Seeker!’

Dory looked like she’d been battered about the head with a Beater bat, unable to do more than sputter congratulations as Mary hugged her, then bounced off to regale the entire tower with the news. Lily glanced up at Potter. ‘You made her happy, I’ll give you that.’

‘Yeah.’ His expression flickered. ‘I’ll just have to not break her, too.’ He gave a one-shouldered shrug and walked off before she could find a reassuring answer to that.

She turned to Dory, finding her still looking a bit bemused. ‘Dory?’

‘Huh?’ Her head snapped around. ‘Yes, he’s an idiot - what?’

‘I didn’t say anything about Potter.’ Lily frowned. ‘You okay? You were just…’ She followed where Dory had been gazing, watching Mary bounce around the common room, and her brow furrowed even deeper. ‘What’s…’

‘Crouch apparently tried pushing Smithson into one of the bitey plants in Herbology this afternoon,’ Dory blurted. ‘Smithson’s that little Ravenclaw Muggle-born fifth year, short for his age, reedy, you know.’

‘Crouch _what_?’ Lily’s chest tightened.

‘ _Yeah,_ apparently Sprout shut it down right away, but, I mean. Slytherins, right?’

‘At least Sprout _did_ something,’ Lily huffed. ‘Most of the other teachers wouldn’t…’

It took by the time she went to bed, hours later, all ranted out about the state of Hogwarts staff and their indifferent to bigoted cruelty, before Lily realised Dory had told her a nothing story to distract her, and that her friend had most certainly been gazing at a happy Mary Macdonald and sighing wistfully.


	21. Trouble on the Way

_Don’t go round tonight_   
_Well, it’s bound to take your life,_   
_There’s a bad moon on the rise._   
_-_ _‘Bad Moon Rising,’ Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)_

 

The woods were alive even before Remus joined them. And once he did, slinking out through the passage after Peter touched the knot to still the Whomping Willow’s rage, the woods quivered with fear. The Forbidden Forest could never grow accustomed to these forays; no creature, no matter how deep they ventured, stood their ground easily against a werewolf. So it fell to Sirius and it fell to James. 

Not yet, though. For the moment, Remus bounded through the woodland, paws scrabbling through undergrowth and on fallen trees to leap and hurtle, and they, the stag and the dog, kept pace. It was always like this at the start; freed, the wolf inside wanted nothing more than to run, to feel the world underfoot and the stars overhead, to let the wind rush through fur and all the smells of all the world to fill nostrils. So all they had to do for now was keep pace, make sure he didn’t stumble into trouble. And otherwise, the woods were just as alive for Sirius as they were for Remus. 

Outside of the full moon, he didn’t spend long in his animagus form. There were few opportunities at home and in school and, above all, little _reason_. Only once a month did he find himself immersed fully into this body, this mind, these _senses_. He’d walked through the Forbidden Forest as a human, if only for the odd detention, and had found it dark and creaky and disconcerting. Seeing it as Padfoot was like he’d been underwater all that time and only now burst to the surface, out of gloom into bright lights and cacophonous sounds. And the longer he was like this, prowling through the woods behind Remus, the more it felt _good_ and _right_. 

This was only their third new moon this academic year, only one of their first expeditions at all since perfecting the process. Still he found it intoxicating, worth every moment of gruelling study and transformation even _without_ the need to be with Remus. Because out here, like this, he could _see_. 

Or perhaps smell, or hear - it wasn’t like being human, where he could draw the lines between senses so easily. Here, like this, everything rolled together seamlessly, scent and sound and sight one glorious kaleidoscope of sensation. From the smallest rodent scurrying away through the undergrowth to the whistling wind in the trees bringing promises of things to come, to the scent not just of animals and plants but _emotions_ , _impressions_. Here, it was all one, without the interfering thoughts of man, of logic or _doubt_. Here, there was just action, just _being_. 

So he scrabbled after Remus, yipping with pure joy, and Remus - still invigorated with the wilderness, still in those heady first hours - snapped back at him with a bite more playful than vicious. Sirius still kept his distance, growling back, and they veered around a rise towards an opening in the trees, starlight streaming down - 

Until James, antlers silhouetted by the shining silver behind him, swept in front and came to a skidding halt. Peter was on his back, clutching on with small, desperate claws - though James was harder to hold onto, after one venture atop Sirius where he’d forgotten completely about his rodent friend while scooting under a low branch and had almost smeared him into paste, Peter now stuck with a stag mount. This was enough to make Sirius scrabble to a halt, whining plaintively, but Remus sank onto his haunches, hackles rising, growl far less playful. Perhaps they were at this part of the night already, where instinct and _hunt_ and _want_ rose higher in Remus, and on their antics they had to control him as much as join in the fun. 

But James swiped his antlers towards Remus, urging him _around_ rather than to _stop_ and, with a heavy huff more dog-like than Remus might admit to, the werewolf shook himself before bounding off in a different direction. Sirius cocked his head at James, who didn’t hesitate before leaping after Remus, and only then, looking into the clearing, did Sirius notice the handful of centaur gathering around one of their pools. 

The man in him knew it wise to not bring a werewolf crashing into a pack of centaurs. Even _if_ they all emerged from the encounter no worse for wear, there was a risk some more friendly of the herd might bring well-meaning warning to Hogwarts of a werewolf roaming the Forbidden Forest. James was right to keep an eye out, as ever. 

But Sirius was the hound right now, and the hound thought it an awful spoiling of fun. Still he yelped, still he burst into the undergrowth after them, and still the play and hunt and stalking of wood and beast and night continued. James was always the more responsible on these evenings, always remembering he was here to keep Remus out of trouble, and Sirius could only marvel at how much he had to be denying himself, how much he had to _miss_. 

How could he see the forests in all their glory if he had to keep a hold of the man? How could he smell the glories of the wilderness, experience it as the beasts they were, if he had to keep _reason_ and _logic_ and _doubt_ in his mind? 

So onward they ran, into the forest and into the night. 

They raced a river, streaming silver through the woods so bright Sirius would swear they could run the surface, until Remus caught a scent of some prey and tried to jump it. He slipped and failed, landing in the shallows on the far side, before scrabbling and bounding onward. Sirius just splashed through after him; James found some good rocks to clear it in one bound, Peter squeaking indignantly from his back. 

Then further, haranguing some foxes James drove back before Remus, tauter and tauter as exuberance faded for his maddened werewolf nature, might turn to needless violence. It was not the foxes he’d smelled but the rabbits they found soon after, and while James kept his distance and kept his watch, Sirius joined Remus in lunging on the one, snatching up its form in his jaws and shaking his head wildly to snap its neck. 

He didn’t know where _that_ instinct came from, but it felt too right to question it, or quash it. 

The night descended from there in Sirius’ mind, moment and memory and sensation and desire rolling together. He would remember the leap across a wider river, remember Remus’ wolf form bathed in silver starlight, muscle rippling under grey fur; remember frustration at James, again and again blocking their way. Remember wind and blood and howls. 

They must have turned back before dawn, driven Remus to the Shrieking Shack. That tasted more like conflict in his memory, for of course the werewolf wouldn’t want to return, even as his feral fury faded at the promise of sunlight. But back he would be driven, and then back to the castle the trio hurried before they would be missed, animal fading for man to slink back through the entrances they’d found over the years, sneak back to their dormitory. 

It was a Tuesday night, Sirius remembered thinking before he passed out, or a Wednesday morning now. They had been awake all night and soon they had classes. 

He woke up as a man again, a few scant hours later, with the taste of raw rabbit and fur in his mouth. 

‘Tea,’ said Peter, pale with bags under his eyes as he set down mugs and plates on the bedside tables in th dorm. ‘Bacon rolls. Snuck them up.’ 

Sirius meant to thank him, but instead growled as he rolled over and drained the too-hot tea in one go. 

‘Cheers, mate,’ James groaned, swinging his legs out of bed. ‘You’re a bloody champ to do this.’ 

‘I am,’ Peter agreed. ‘But I didn’t run around like a mad thing all night. Just stayed awake like a mad thing all night.’ 

‘Did I _actually_ eat a rabbit?’ Sirius asked, staring at the bacon sandwich in his hands. 

‘Yep,’ said James. 

‘Whole,’ added Peter. 

‘In your defence, it was clearly Remus’ idea.’ 

‘But in Remus’ defence, he’s a goddamn werewolf and you’re just a lunatic in a dog’s body.’ 

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ Sirius groaned. 

James’ lips thinned. ‘Yeah. Usually does, I imagine.’ 

Peter looked between them, then sighed and stood. ‘I’m going to start dissembling bullshit downstairs for why we’re all walking corpses today and why Remus is in the Infirmary,’ he said, and left. 

Sirius rubbed his eyes and tried to take a bite of the sandwich. He was unhelpfully not hungry, but at least the bacon didn’t taste of fur. ‘Something going on?’ 

James sipped his tea before he answered. ‘You remember why we did this?’ 

‘Of course. For Remus.’ 

‘So we could go with him, and keep him in check. So he doesn’t have to be locked up in the Shack where he hurts himself.’ 

Sirius suspected something was coming, but in his muggy, semi-conscious state decided to just chew on his bacon roll and wait for James to get to the point. 

James stood, hands on his hips. ‘And he’s got to be kept in the Shack, because if he’s allowed _out_ he might go on a rampage, hurt someone, hurt himself _worse_.’ 

‘Prongs -’ 

‘So we’ve got to _keep him in check_ , Sirius! That means we keep an eye on him, that means we steer him away from trouble - and trouble might be something that hurts him or something that _he_ hurts -’ 

‘It was just a bloody rabbit -’ 

‘I’m not _talking_ about the rabbit!’ James clenched his jaw. ‘I’m talking about the centaur herd you were happy to let him charge headlong into.’ 

Sirius stood, scowling. ‘I wasn’t _happy_ to let him charge into it,’ he snapped. ‘I…’ 

‘You didn’t _notice_ them.’ Sirius didn’t have an answer to that, so stayed silent, insolent under James’ piercing gaze. ‘You were too busy running around and having fun that you two could have careened right into the whole bunch of them. You _know_ how bad that could have been.’ 

‘Yeah,’ said Sirius, surly, ‘but it _didn_ _’t_. We did this so Remus didn’t have to be alone, James, not so we could pen him in like everyone else does -’ 

‘Hey, that’s not _fair_.’ James stabbed an accusing finger at him. ‘You _know_ I want to be there to support him. But we can have fun with him while keeping him safe, too. And _he_ _’d_ want us to keep him safe. And that means we have to be the responsible ones out there, not just rampaging around doing whatever we bloody well fancy - and that just makes it harder for me, too, having to keep you _both_ in check! Having to worry about not just him, but _you_ being damned foolish!’ 

_Foolish_. That wasn’t a word James threw at him often, and anything of its ilk was usually said with affection, or applied to them both. James was the one he did stupid things _with_ or _for_ ; James wasn’t the one who yelled at him for being irresponsible. Even Remus usually _groaned_ at him for being irresponsible, and teachers had by now accepted his antics and gave him detention slips without another word; yelling at him for being _foolish_ was the purview of - 

‘Guess you would have figured out that’s what I _do_ , by now.’ His voice was a low, irritable growl. ‘Be foolish. Get underfoot.’ 

James was deflating already, exhaustion and stress visible in his gaze. Sirius knew he wouldn’t have yelled that if he’d had more than two hours’ sleep, if he hadn’t been hurtling around the woods all night. But it was hard not imagine that exhaustion was just making him _honest_. ‘That’s not what I mean, Pads, and you know it. We’ve just got to be a _team_ in this.’ 

‘I thought we already _were_ a team. Or do you make a team with Evans, now?’ He regretted the words the moment they were past his lips. _Perhaps exhaustion just makes us petty, not honest_. 

‘That’s not fair.’ 

‘You’re doing these _practice_ sessions with her, you’re encouraging her to, what, be more shouty at everyone, you _talk_ to her -’ 

‘Was that -’ James hesitated. ‘Is that what this is about? Telling her about Dad?’ 

‘Never mind,’ Sirius blurted, looked at the door, and stopped. ‘I can’t storm out,’ he realised. ‘I’m still in my underwear.’ 

‘Pads -’ 

‘Your family’s always been my bolt hole, you know that?’ Sirius snapped, turning back. ‘No matter how bad things got at home, I always had you and your house and your parents - you said I could stop by any time and you _meant_ it and I used it but now - I know this is worse for you -’ 

James’ shoulders sank with his expression, horror rising in his eyes. ‘That’s not going to change; we’re not going to turn you away…’ 

‘But you’ve got your own problems now. You guys were - you were the family _without_ problems…’ 

‘I hate to break it to you, Sirius,’ said James awkwardly, ‘but nobody’s got the family without problems. Even with problems, there’s always a place for you. _You_ help problems - your jokes, your support, it - it matters. You think I’m going to need you _less_ as things get worse? That’s bullshit, and Evans isn’t going to - she’s not _you_ , Sirius!’ He hesitated, looking himself and then Sirius up and down. ‘…I was going to hug you but we both need way more clothes for that.’ 

Sirius _beamed_. ‘Nope!’ he declared, and bounded forwards. ‘Who needs boundaries -’ 

By the time they made it to class, he didn’t feel any more awake, but he did feel better and his mouth didn’t taste of rabbit any more. But at least it was Gryffindor Charms, so he and James and Peter could sit at the back and more or less snooze. 

This wasn’t helped by Evans slinking past on the way in. ‘Potter,’ she hissed. ‘Did you read it?’ 

James was trying to sleep into his hand before Flitwick got there, and jerked upright. ‘Class notes? I am _all over_ the class notes, Evans, you know me -’ 

‘Oh, don’t bloody lie to me, and that’s not what I mean.’ 

‘Then…’ 

‘For a master of mayhem you are surprisingly uninformed sometimes,’ Evans said with a superior tilt of the nose, and slid a folded sheaf of paper onto the desk. ‘This goes without saying, but you look dead enough today I’ll say it anyway: for the love of God, keep this hidden.’ 

Obfuscation 101 meant James took the paper without looking at it and immediately passed it to Peter, who slid it then under the table to Sirius. Which meant he was the first of them to get a good look of the latest issue of _Gutters_. 

‘Merlin’s tits,’ Sirius mused. ‘Wick strikes again.’ 

James glanced over. ‘He insists it’s not him, and Evans agrees -’ 

‘If Evans doesn’t know men will lie to her in romance, she’s going to get pretty heartbroken pretty quick.’ 

James flinched. ‘I just mean it might _not_ be him.’ 

‘Then who? Nate McKinnon?’ 

‘Could be. What’s this one about?’ 

Sirius unfolded the paper, but that was just as Flitwick came in so he didn’t have a chance to do more than glance it over. ‘Something about Abernathy,’ he murmured. ‘And I think Avery and Leo Travers.’ 

On any other day, they would have read it in between pretending to pay attention, in between breezing their way through Flitwick’s charms. But there had been so little sleep, and with Remus in the Hospital Wing Sirius knew they’d need to provide him with decent notes. They were, none of them, in a condition to be discreet, and so actually kept their heads down and their mouths shut. It was enough that at one point Flitwick asked if Sirius was ill, and the only way Sirius could think of being witty back was to be polite and well-measured and assure the professor that he just had a keen, ready mind, eager for learning. It did disquiet _everyone_ , so it wasn’t a complete waste. 

They stumbled into a stairwell during the break, the three jostling for enough space to share the sheet of gossip and drama that had once, already, set Hogwarts metaphorically ablaze. 

‘Do you think we can sneak this in to Remus in the Hospital Wing?’ Peter wondered. ‘He’ll want to see it.’ 

‘We don’t want him caught with it in a place he can’t ditch it,’ Sirius pointed out. 

‘We can bring it up with us, let him read it when we visit, take it away,’ said James. ‘Let’s do it tonight, let the poor guy sleep.’ 

‘Poor guy,’ Peter grumbled. ‘He’s getting more sleep than _us_ up there.’ 

‘Oh ho _ho_.’ Sirius beamed as he read. ‘Avery’s big brother was caught last year doing _Muggle baiting_? Not even Muggle-born baiting, lowered himself to baiting actual _Muggles_? And all charges _mysteriously_ went away after Papa Avery visited Canary Wharf?’ 

‘Not sure that’s going to embarrass them,’ Peter grumbled. ‘They’ll probably take it as a badge of honour that he did it at all, and a sign of influence that they got away with it.’ 

‘Sure,’ said James, ‘but it reminds everyone else what a piece of shit Avery is, and reminds everyone that the bloody DMLE, the bloody _Ministry_ , aren’t keeping an eye on anyone, are they? Aren’t looking out for anyone.’ 

That turned _Gutters_ less from hilarious sniping at hypocritical Slytherins, and more the gritty reality of an uncaring world, which Sirius wasn’t sure he could cope with on this little sleep, fresh off a raw argument and reconciliation. That and it always took time to shift his mind from the dog’s, from the simple pattern of identifying what he wanted and then, for lack of a better word, hounding it. 

This was never more apparent than at lunch, when he detached from James and Peter to wander across the Great Hall towards the Ravenclaw table, and without ceremony pounced onto the bench next to where Marlene was sat at the periphery of her brother’s group. He crouched on the landing and leaned in. ‘Morning, darling.’ 

She was scribbling notes in between taking bites of her sandwich, and frowned at her quill. ‘It’s half twelve, Sirius.’ 

‘Then… midday, darling.’ 

‘Technically that was half an hour ago -’ 

He cut her short and won the argument by kissing her. ‘There,’ Sirius proclaimed. ‘Best part of the day already.’ 

‘ _Sirius_.’ She swatted ineffectively at his shoulder. ‘You don’t - not - someone will see -’ 

‘ _Everyone_ ,’ Sirius agreed. 

Across the table and a little down, Nathaniel McKinnon sipped his tea. ‘Don’t stop on my account. Seems you found the only surefire way to shut her up, Black.’ 

Marlene went bright pink as her brother turned disinterestedly back to his gang. ‘Nate -’ 

‘She’s cute when she babbles,’ Sirius proclaimed, and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘So how _are_ you, darling?’ 

‘ _I_ _’m_ fine. But you?’ She looked him up and down, blue eyes unwelcomely piercing for this time of day with this little sleep. ‘You look a state, and so do James and Peter, and Remus is in the hospital wing again?’ 

‘You know Remus. He’s clumsy.’ He paused. ‘And sickly. He’s doing better these days, though.’ He made his eyes go pleading, pitiable. ‘We stayed up most the night with him, making sure he was alright.’ 

It turned out he was right to gamble on such a cheap tactic as that working on Marlene, as she wilted. ‘You shouldn’t need to do that, Madam Pomfrey should be - you look _exhausted_ Sirius, really.’ She shuffled her papers. ‘You _will_ get an early night, won’t you?’ 

‘Of course,’ he lied. 

‘And she should let you have a Pepperup Potion or somesuch just to get through the day - it’s the sort of thing they’re _for_ , I should go have a word with her.’ Polishing off her sandwich, Marlene stood with a sudden, determined air. 

‘Uh, you don’t need to go chase her up…’ If Madam Pomfrey started to realise James, Peter and Sirius were all suffering the same nights Remus was supposedly locked up in the Shack, that’d do no good. ‘She won’t, I asked her - I mean, that’s the sort of thing I’d have to get from Slughorn.’ 

Marlene put her hands on her hips. ‘Then I’ll go and see Slughorn! And brew it myself if I have to!’ 

‘You don’t… have to…’ But she was gone, leaving Sirius floundering at the Ravenclaw table, bereft of girlfriend or reason to be there. 

Wick had been sat on the other side of Marlene, and now leaned down with a wry grin. ‘Is she escaping you, Black?’ 

‘She’s just so overcome with concern for me she had to be _elsewhere_.’ Sirius’ eyes latched on Wick’s plate, and he slid down the bench next to him. ‘What’s _in_ that sandwich? I want it.’ The smell had hit his nostrils with full, dog-like force, and he didn’t bother fighting the urge to just snatch it up and take a bite. 

‘Ham and chutney - oh, well, if you _must_ help yourself…’ 

‘Chutney. Ugh.’ Sirius took another bite. 

‘I know, how very working class of me. You wizards think it’s us Muggle-borns coming up here and cheapening your culture, but if my father knew Hogwarts had imparted upon me the occasional craving for a ploughman’s lunch, well. The fury of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would be nothing in comparison.’ 

He looked up at Wick, eyes narrowing. ‘But you like the fury of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Or you wouldn’t have written that little _rag_ of yours again, Wick.’ 

Wick turned his eyes skyward. ‘I insist, yet again, that I didn’t write _Gutters_.’ 

‘That’s _exactly_ what someone who wrote _Gutters_ would say.’ Sirius tossed the sandwich down, deciding he didn’t much want it after all, and leaned in to sniff him. ‘You smell of parchment. Must be you.’ 

‘I’m a Ravenclaw,’ Wick pointed out. ‘Parchment comes with the territory. I’m sure Marlene smells of parchment and _why_ , Black, are you sniffing me regardless?’ 

‘Smelling out lies.’ Sirius helped himself to Wick’s pumpkin juice. ‘It was pretty sneaky, you know, getting that information about the Travers family spending far more time with the Ackerleys right before Papa Ackerley gets himself _locked up_ in Azkaban with Death Eatering on his record.’ 

‘It _is_ rather sneaky and unfortunate news for Leo Travers to be smeared with that brush at a time like this,’ Wick agreed mildly, reaching to reclaim his cup. ‘But why would _I_ know with whom his family spends time? I’m a _Muggle-born_ , remember? I wouldn’t have an excuse to know about that, or to know about the Avery family’s bribery at Canary Wharf, _or_ anything about Abernathy being a one-time member of the Knights of Walpurgis -’ 

‘He -’ Sirius gave a bark of laughter. ‘I didn’t read _that_ far.’ 

‘Only about fifteen years ago, when they were nothing more than a rather melodramatic little gentleman’s club, but it’s no good for Hufflepuff House, really, is it?’ Wick smirked and sipped his drink. ‘I keep saying this, and it’s a frightful compliment you think I’m turning the school upside-down so much, but I have not the resources to gather all this information being posted in _Gutters_. You need someone altogether more connected to wizarding society and the Ministry. I’m sorry, but I’m not your man.’ 

Sirius glanced across the table, to where Nathaniel McKinnon kept half an eye on the conversation as he laughed with the other Ravenclaws. _He_ _’s got the connections, though. No reason to think this is a one-man job._ He leaned in to Wick again and gave another sniff. ‘You smell like my man.’ 

‘I’m _flattered_ , Black,’ said Wick with a slow, sly grin. ‘But push that point and I imagine you’d have to contend with a very upset Lily and a _most_ upset Nathaniel.’ 

‘Wait,’ said Nathaniel, looking over. ‘Am I supposed to be defending you, or my sister?’ 

‘Your sister, Nate. I can fight my own battles. And I’m _sure_ ,’ said Wick, looking Sirius up and down, smirk intact, ‘that I can handle Black.’ 

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ proclaimed Sirius, the smell of chutney still reigning in his nostrils, and in one smooth move he bounded to his feet again. ‘I should get my own lunch.’ 

It was hungry work, after all, grilling _Gutters_ _’_ author.

§ 

‘…never seen her like this, Fletch.’ Cecil’s bag had a hole in the bottom, so he had to carry it clutched in his arms to stop the books from falling out - which, in Fletch’s eyes, rather defeated the object of a bag. ‘She’s been _skipping_ Care of Magical Creatures lessons.’

‘She still goes down to see to the bloody horse, though. Just not when anyone else is going to be there.’ Fletch waved a hand. ‘We’re not her _mum_ , Cec. What am I supposed to do about it?’ 

‘We should talk to her.’ 

‘Talk. To Amy Hargreaves.’ Her lips thinned. ‘Sure, I can do that. In fact, let me play that through for you right now.’ She raised both hands, fingers pressed against her thumb like mouthpieces. ‘ _Hi, Hargreaves,_ ’ she said in a squeaky voice, right-hand ‘talking’. ‘ _You look down! Do you want to talk about it?_ ’ 

Cecil groaned. ‘Fletch…’ 

‘ _No_ ,’ said Fletch in a deeper, grumpier voice, the other hand doing the talking. ‘ _I want to sulk and stomp around in my big boots and look like I_ _’ll shank someone for coming too near_.’ She swapped to the other hand and the squeaky voice. ‘ _Okay! Let_ _’s get back to pretending everything’s okay_!’ 

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Is the squeaky voice you or me?’ 

‘That’s you. Because I don’t even waste time trying.’ 

‘Fletch -’ 

‘Stop saying my name like it changes reality. I don’t have that power. If I did, I wouldn’t be in this shithole of a school.’ She sighed as they rounded a corner, Astronomy lessons clashing with the mid-evening traffic of students scurrying out of dinner or up to the library or enjoying mingling outside their common rooms before curfew. ‘She’s only mad because she’d really like Mulciber to fuck her and it’s kind of a turn-off that he’s an enormous racist. So that’s leading to one confusingly hateful lady-boner.’ 

‘Oh, _Merlin_ , Fletch, did you have to - great imagery there,’ Cecil groaned. 

‘I’m just a truth-sayer. It sucks for her, but she’s going to have to deal with it like a grown-up and go wank the bathrooms.’ 

‘Why,’ muttered Cecil, ‘am I only friends with girls.’ 

‘You could try being friends with Rufus and Angus. I bet they’d elevate the level of debate around here. Or, wait, no, it’d be grunting and Quidditch and music.’ 

‘I like music.’ 

‘And grunting?’ 

‘I’m _worried_ about her.’ 

‘So am I, but what are we supposed to do? Mind-wipe Graham Mulciber so he’s not an asshole? Mind-wipe _her_ so she’s not so keen on him?’ 

‘We could find her a fella,’ said Cecil. ‘Or, I don’t know, a girl, I’m not really sure how she swings - is “angry” a sexuality?’ 

‘If it is, then she’s pretty much constantly frustrated.’ Fletch pursed her lips. ‘But, you know, not a bad idea, Cec. We could find her a bloke. Someone to scratch the itch so she doesn’t have to rub one out -’ 

‘ _Merlin_ , Fletch, please, no more.’ 

She grinned and threw an arm around his shoulder. ‘So how come _you_ _’re_ not waltzing through the ranks of the ladies, Cec? You’re a man of intellect and means. Chicks dig that.’ 

‘I’m enjoying being a free spirit,’ said Cecil. ‘It gives me the time to focus on my more aspirational, intellectual pursuits, and avoids soul-crushing rejection. And I could ask the same of _you_ , Fletch.’ 

‘Me? Don’t commit, it makes it harder to play people. You know me, Cec. Don’t let them see the real you. Only you and Har are so lucky.’ 

His cheeks went a bit pink. ‘Honoured, Fletch. And, I know, you want to keep people at arm’s length, but ever wonder if that’s what’s got us, and Hargreaves, all wound up like this?’ 

‘I’m not wound up.’ 

‘Yeah, but I mean - if you were - maybe we could band together a bit more effectively - I don’t mean all three of us, but if Amy’s being all grouchy and we want to - I mean - we could, like…’ 

Then they rounded the corner and almost ran flat into the poised, angry, stalking figure of Saul Avery. Despite herself, Fletch let her arm around Cecil fall, as if she was doing something wrong instead of joking with one of her best friends, and found herself straightening. 

Avery stopped short, handsome features for once twisted out of wry amusement or wry indifference into a definite scowl. If anything, this deepened when he saw her. ‘Fletch. Excellent timing. Do come with me.’ 

Cecil puffed himself up. ‘Hey, she’s not here for you to just -’ 

‘It’s fine, Cec.’ She patted him on the arm, and without another word followed Avery as he stalked off. 

She suspected what this was about, but when he led her into an empty Charms classroom, realised this was about more than him just blowing off steam. Despite herself, she drew a deep breath and only spoke when he’d shut the door behind them, trapping them in the gloomy class. ‘So what’s a gentleman like you doing in a place like this?’ 

It was the usual banter, the usual masks they wore, and still it didn’t move his honest scowl. ‘I’m only going to ask this once.’ Avery’s voice was a low hum as he turned away from the door, and she was suddenly acutely aware that he blocked the way out. ‘Do you have _anything_ to do with that damned paper?’ 

Fletch swallowed hard. ‘ _Gutters?_ No.’ His dark eyes remained locked on her, and she squared her shoulders. ‘ _No_ , Avery. I don’t shit where I sleep. Why would I want to turn the school upside-down, upset the people who _pay_ me for things?’ 

‘It’s anonymous,’ rumbled Avery, approaching with a slow, deliberate gait. ‘And well-researched. It could be someone like you isn’t _quite_ as happy as they pretend to be. Maybe you take my money and then use it to sniff around - because you’re _good_ at sniffing around, aren’t you?’ His hand shot out, quicker than she’d expected, to grab her by the arm, and she couldn’t help but make a small noise of surprise. ‘You’re the one who finds out everything for everyone. So maybe someone’s just paying you to find things out. And I could understand that, Fletch, I know it’s just _business_. That wouldn’t make me angry.’ 

She tried stepping away, found the teacher’s desk hitting her lower back and pinning her in place. ‘Avery - even if it were business, I don’t screw around like this -’ 

‘Not for business. Alright.’ Now she’d stopped, he stepped in, face uncomfortably close - and this near, in the darkness and the anger, gone were the cheerful good looks of the polite, friendly front of Slytherin House, of the charismatic one of Mulciber’s gang. Now the fury had twisted him into sharp, ugly edges. ‘Maybe you’re not happy with our arrangements, then, Fletch. Maybe you take my money and _laugh_ at me behind my back.’ 

_And that_ _’s the worst thing you can imagine, isn’t it, Avery - being laughed at by people you look down on._ But he still had a hold on her, was still angry, was still _close_ , and her heart was still pounding in her chest enough to deafen. ‘I swear this wasn’t me, Avery. I didn’t feed anyone any information on you, I _swear_.’ 

He leaned in, his voice now a knife’s whisper. ‘ _Good_. So you’re going to be a good girl and find out who _is_ doing it, aren’t you?’ 

Her breath caught. ‘It’s just a rag -’ 

‘It’s a _rag_ throwing my family’s private business around. And that of my _friends_.’ 

‘If Randal Mulciber wants me finding out -’ 

‘ _Fuck_ Randal.’ Avery’s jaw was tight. ‘I mean _me_ and I mean _Graham_. You find things out, Fletch. Find _this_ out. Find the little sneaky rat who thinks it’s fun to score points by using our _families_.’ 

She’d never seen him like this, so sincerely taut and furious, and for once she didn’t think it was a good time to haggle or play games. Wordlessly, she nodded. 

He didn’t let her go, but the knot in his brow loosened, and then his free hand came up to brush the back of his knuckles against her cheek. She tried to not shudder. ‘Good,’ he whispered, and he was the Avery she knew again. ‘You know I can be generous to my friends, my dear. So it’s in your best interests to make sure you _are_ a friend, no?’ Velvet was back in his voice, and her heart rate slowed as the masks came back down, clouding the anger, putting her once more on footing she was familiar with. 

‘I imagine,’ murmured Fletch, and forced herself to look up and meet his gaze. ‘That we can talk about your generosity when I have something for you?’ 

‘I would never, my dear, expect something from you for nothing. But then, we always have had an understanding, haven’t we?’ 

Normally she could wriggle away at this point, but his grip on her arm was still iron-tight. This time, when he kissed her, his lips insistent, mouth commanding, she had no means of turning the tables. Not that she always escaped, but normally there was some playfulness, some dabbling with control, some illusion that perhaps she could, sometimes, call the shots - because sometimes he wanted to be toyed with. This time there was no toying. But he was angry and frustrated and there she was, ever the one pretending she was making the most of the needs of the petulant, rich pure-bloods. This time she couldn’t pretend she could pull the strings, not with his grip so insistent, his hands so demanding, his body pinning her so needily against the desk, and her unable to wriggle free in a way which wouldn’t bring down every carefully-constructed piece of her security tapestry. 

In the end he left the classroom first, and she gave him five minutes’ head start before she followed, clothes rumpled, hating herself. Normally Saul Avery wasn’t so overt, but there was a wound in him running deep, a wound to his pride and his own sense of security, and she’d spent so long making herself there to soothe the insults and ease the needs of these kinds of rich boys that it was inevitable, she supposed, it would backfire some day. 

She was beyond late for Astronomy, and didn’t fancy sliding up to the Tower in shame, not when Avery was also going to be there late. It was bad enough putting up with Cecil’s pained looks, but she didn’t need the rest of the classroom, either. Far better to act as if she’d brushed class off and head back to the Ravenclaw common room, and make up for it from Cecil’s notes later. So long as she took the discreet way back to Ravenclaw Tower, she’d be fine. The discreet way meant slipping outside, a shortcut along the paths and hedgerows rather than taking winding corridors indoors all around the castle, and it meant she ran straight into the pack of other Slytherins. 

Fletch thought they were just lurking together, laughing or smoking or staying out of sight, stood in a patch of the path shrouded in darkness. Either side was flanked by golden light streaming from the tall windows of the school, so it was hard to make out the details, hard to see anything than a few big shapes moving around. Only by the familiar laugh of Randal Mulciber did she realise who it was, and that would have been enough to make her turn around and go the other way. 

Then she heard the yelp of pain, and froze in the shadows. 

It was seventh year Slytherin boys, Mulciber and Carrow and the others. The ones she didn’t try to play, because they were either too dumb and mean, or they were Randal Mulciber, and she didn’t like the way he looked _through_ her. The man himself was stood a step back, tall and broad, arms folded around his chest, and the laugh was short, sharp, unamused as Amycus Carrow dragged a squirming shape to their feet. 

It took Fletch a moment to recognise him, and in the darkness she probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t Bertram Aubrey, weren’t a Ravenclaw in her year, weren’t someone she saw day-in, day-out. He was a skinny kid, inconsequential, running around behind Rufus Burke and usually being found wanting, not as cool as him or Dodd or Wagtail, and not enough of a reject to slip through the cracks with her, Cecil, Hargreaves. But worst of all, Fletch realised she’d missed her window to turn around and run, because the only thing worse than seeing this would be being noticed. 

‘That’s enough,’ said Randal Mulciber, and stepped up to Aubrey, bent double, clutching at his gut. ‘Do you see what you did wrong?’ 

Aubrey was wheezing. Silhouetted against the golden light in the patch beyond, so she could see him fine but nobody looking out the windows would, Fletch could see the blood dripping from his nose. ‘I’m sorry,’ he croaked. ‘I was…’ 

‘Singing. You might have thought it clever. This _subtle_ insult of yours. But _subtle_ _’s_ just a word for thinking us idiots.’ Mulciber had been stood still as stone - but when he moved it was in a blink, like lightning, and then he had Aubrey grabbed by the front of his robe, wand pressed into his gut. ‘Thinking _me_ an idiot. And I’ve been nice. I thought you all saw how the tide flowed. Perhaps I need a reminder.’ 

‘No,’ babbled Aubrey. ‘I’m _sorry_ , you don’t need -’ 

‘I don’t _what_ \- you’re telling _me_ what to do?’ She couldn’t see Mulciber’s expression, but could hear the anger. This wasn’t Saul Avery, with his masks and games; this wasn’t Amycus Carrow, simple and straightforward. This was an anger burning brighter and yet darker. ‘No, Mudblood, _you_ need a reminder.’ 

He must have gestured to the other Slytherins, because then they stepped forward, and Fletch shrank against the bushes and hoped they wouldn’t see her. She heard the rip of cloth, saw them tear Aubrey’s robes off enough to bare his chest, saw him struggle and heard him yelp, and how, _how_ was this not heard inside, _how_ was nobody coming to look into this, how come nobody was arriving to stop this - 

\- _how come you_ _’re hiding in the bushes -_   
  
Then Mulciber stepped forward, wand raised to press it to Aubrey’s bare skin, and the night was filled with screaming. 

Fletch didn’t come out of the bushes until they were gone, all of them, except for Aubrey, left flat on his back on the path in the darkness of gathering winter, robes a torn mess around him. The Slytherins had gone the other way, the bulk of them laughing, Randal Mulciber at the head in stony silence. Only once she couldn’t hear the sound of them did she slink back onto the path, only when nothing drowned out Aubrey’s gasping sobs did she creep along the gravel, bag and wand clutched tight. 

He writhed in whimpering pain on the path, but had to hear her step on the gravel, and she stopped, poised in the darkness, not yet stepping out into the light from the windows spilling onto the path like an illuminating abyss stretching before them. A weak hand came up, grasping, desperate, and his voice was hoarse from screams and pain. ‘Help…’ 

Aubrey hadn’t recognised her, she didn’t think, with her still in darkness. But she’d been staring at him for so long her eyes had adapted, and now, a bit closer, she could see - see the pile of torn robes next to him as his chest had been bared, see the blood streaming down, just a trickle, not as bad as it could be - because while Mulciber wanted to hurt, he mostly wanted a message, wanted a _reminder_. 

And there it was, carved in flesh, the word _MUD_ across Bertram Aubrey’s chest. Again, he croaked at her. ‘Please - _please_ -’ 

That beg, that fresh sob in his voice, along with the realisation of what Mulciber and his cronies had done - that was enough to jerk Fletch from frozen panic, make her finally able to move again, shove her into action. 

She ran. 


	22. Heart of Stone

_Jesus died for somebody_ _’s sins_  
_But not mine._  
_-_ _‘Gloria,’ Patti Smith (1975)_  
  
  
It was like the Stun came at her in slow-motion, so easy was it to summon not even a full Shield against it, just enough of a protective spark from her wand to deflect the energy off to the side. It hit the wall of the abandoned toilets, shattered an already broken tile, and she stepped back, raising a hand. ‘Come on, Potter. You’re not even trying.’

Potter lowered his wand, jaw tight. ‘Maybe you’re just getting better, Evans.’ 

‘I am. But that was lazy. A second year could have blocked that.’ 

‘Fine. Let’s try again.’ 

‘No.’ She lowered her own wand. ‘We’ve been at this thirty minutes; it’s obvious your heart’s not in it. What’s _wrong_?’ It was hard to not sound frustrated with him. She didn’t enjoy giving up as much of her lunch break as she had to for these practice sessions, she wasn’t yet convinced of the value of them, and when they were his idea and he came to them morose and unmotivated, it felt like an enormous waste of time. 

‘Nothing.’ He turned away, tucked his wand back into his robes. ‘Maybe you should get on with the Transfig essay.’ 

‘Oh, don’t bullshit me, Potter. I don’t want to have you in the same grouchy mood tomorrow. Why are you so sulky?’ 

‘Why aren’t _you_?’ He stopped, tense, looking at her only out of the corner of his eye. ‘Aubrey gets fucked up and _you_ _’re_ not tense?’ 

Her breath caught. News had spread through school yesterday like blood seeping through water, information dealt out card by card from a well-shuffled pack of misinformation and secrets as teachers tried to clamp down on it. But the truth couldn’t be kept down, not in the end; not when it was clear Mulciber and his mob _wanted_ the school to know how they’d mutilated Aubrey. It was, after all, a message. 

‘Of _course_ I’m tense. That’s why I want to _practice_ , not _piss_ around, Potter.’ 

‘Oh, alliterative bitching, we’re hitting a whole new level of Cranky Evans.’ 

‘Cranky -’ Her grip on her wand tightened, and she stalked forward. ‘Don’t you dare, Potter - don’t you _dare_ act like this bothers you more than me. It _sucks_ for Aubrey and it’s _terrible_ Mulciber’s been so fucking bold, but _you_ _’re_ not in danger of being the next person he targets!’ 

‘No,’ Potter agreed, turning sharply back to her. ‘It’s just my bloody _fault_!’ 

She stopped short at that, blinking. ‘What -’ 

‘You were right, weren’t you! Making a stand, bringing the war front and centre - they never did this sort of shit before, did they? Sharp words, the occasional fight, but this time they _carved_ into his bloody skin!’ 

‘That’s _Mulciber_ , Potter; this isn’t about you -’ 

‘He wouldn’t feel like he had to if I hadn’t _challenged_ him, though!’ He ran a hand over his hair, mussing it even more wildly. ‘All I did was paint a target on everyone, didn’t I - all I did was make him doubt if he’s running the school, and once the shine of victory wears off, he thinks he has to remind us -’ 

She snatched his wrist to stop his wild, panicked gesturing. ‘That’s _him_. That’s _all_ on him, Potter; there is nothing I do, nothing any Muggle-born does, and _certainly_ nothing _you_ do that makes _anyone_ but Mulciber responsible for Mulciber’s actions. Or maybe you can go blame the Death Eaters, blame You-Know-Who, for training an eighteen year-old into thinking mutilation’s a good idea. I hate to break it to you, Potter, but you are _not_ the alpha and omega of the war, not even inside these walls.’ 

He wilted, going from lofty and agitated to slumped, tense, defeated, like someone had taken an axe to the tallest, most irritating tree. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - I’m not trying to make it all about me…’ 

Lily let out a slow breath, and shifted her grip to squeeze his hand. ‘I know. It’s okay to be upset. It’s _right_ to be upset. But we can’t blame ourselves, Potter. That’s what they _want_. They want us scared, they want us changing our behaviour, to be cowed, guilty, afraid. We can’t be.’ 

‘You’re not afraid?’ 

‘I’m _terrified_ ,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been terrified since I realised how much this world hates me. But the thing I have to remember, the thing they don’t _want_ me to remember, is that it’s my world, too. So I have to hate them right back.’ 

‘Mum says that hate’s the problem in all of this,’ said Potter, sounding in his exhausted defeat all the more childish for his words. ‘That we shouldn’t hate -’ 

‘That’s cute,’ Lily said, ‘but Mulciber just carved _Mud_ onto a Muggle-born’s chest. I’m not going to turn the other cheek. I’m going to _hate_ him, and I’m not going to be sorry about it. I’ve got a long way to go before I lose the moral high ground.’ She glanced down, saw her hand still gripping his, and let go sharply. ‘So I forbid you from feeling sorry for yourself, or from blaming yourself. You didn’t make this happen, Potter. I know I’m shattering your self-important illusions, but this is bigger than you.’ She made her expression soften, because she didn’t really mean it as a reproach. ‘It’s bigger than me. Than any single one of us. Blame Mulciber. Not yourself. You’re one of the good guys.’ 

Potter dropped his gaze as she let go of his hand, and gave a small, begrudging nod. ‘Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’m trying.’ 

‘It does - it means something that you care, though.’ She brushed her hair back, keen to have something else to do with your hand. ‘That you act. It lets Muggle-borns know we’re not alone. And that’s important.’ 

‘Sure. But I don’t want to act if it’s just going to make things worse. If I step up, and then Mulciber retaliates against someone else, it - I don’t want people to get hurt -’ 

She stepped in, both hands now coming to his elbows. ‘People,’ she said gently, ‘are going to get hurt. Don’t step up to make a scene. Step up to protect. It’s what we can do.’ 

He frowned. ‘You might be getting better, but you shouldn’t get any ideas about facing off against Mulciber, he -’ 

‘I want to be _careful_ , Potter. Not be a bloody idiot and also get carved up.’ She bit her lip, silently grateful that Randal Mulciber was keeping his attacks out of sight. ‘I know I can’t help anyone if I’m getting smeared across the hallway.’ 

‘Good.’ He gave a jerk of a nod. ‘Thanks. I mean, I’m sorry.’ 

‘I much prefer you being annoying and caring about this than you being annoying and caring about yourself.’ She cleared her throat and stepped back. ‘But it’s time we wrapped up.’ 

They returned to the common room as lunch break was winding down. James returned to Sirius, Peter, and a tired Remus who was at least back on his feet, and Lily reached Dory just as Mary, Stump and Derby headed off to class. 

‘How was the anger management session?’ Dory asked as Lily joined her on the couch. 

‘Fine, except Potter gets sulkier when he’s becoming a better person.’ Lily glanced to the stairwell the Gryffindor girls had disappeared down. Dory still hadn’t looked away from it. ‘How’re _you_?’ 

‘Me? You know me, fine and chirpy and…’ Her voice trailed off, gaze suspicious. ‘That had a tone.’ 

‘Did it?’ Lily asked with false innocence, leaning back and putting up her feet on the coffee table. ‘Can’t imagine why. Can’t at all be because you seemed _distracted_.’ 

‘How would you know? You only just got here.’ 

Lily chose to ignore the gibe. ‘You seemed pretty happy with your company while you waited.’ 

Dory gathered her papers and quills off the table. ‘Oh, _waited_ for you, yeah, Red, because I got nothing better to do than wait around -’ 

‘I think you have _plenty_ better to do so long as you’re hanging out with Mary.’ 

There was a sputter, then parchment went everywhere. ‘I don’t - you don’t - that’s _ridiculous_ \- are you projecting, hm, all this time with Wick and Potter to just distract from the ladies -’ 

‘Dory.’ Sobering, Lily sat up. ‘I’m teasing. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal.’ 

‘I’m _touched_ by your apparent open-mindedness, but most of the school would disagree.’ 

Lily decided it unwise to mention she’d only managed to keep her cool quite so much because she’d had a week or two of watching Dory’s behaviour; plenty of time to adapt to this new information. ‘The school’s got quite enough shit on its plate right now. I don’t know, do wizards care about… this sort of thing?’ 

Dory side-eyed her. ‘ _This sort of thing_ \- yes, Red, witches and wizards care about _the gays_.’ She raised her hands melodramatically, though her voice was, for once, kept to a low, fervent pitch. ‘We can hate people for more than one thing. It’s not that bad any more, really, nothing like what Muggle-borns face but it’s not a case of everyone holding hands and skipping off with a rainbow flag. I’d still have to be _careful_ , but anyway. All of that’s irrelevant.’ 

‘It is?’ 

‘I don’t even know if she likes girls! There’s no witch equivalent of sticking a hankie in your back pocket -’ 

‘…what?’ 

‘…it’s flagging, Red, and it’s men - look, never mind. On top of _all of that_ , there’s the very real and present danger that on any given day, Randal Mulciber is going to decide to -’ Dory stopped herself, lips pursing. ‘I wouldn’t want to do anything which draws _more_ unwanted attention to her.’ 

Lily watched her, the first time she’d seen her new friend truly subdued, and her gut twisted. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of it.’ 

‘You did,’ said Dory, unaccusing, ‘you just thought that was the right way to handle it. Not crazy. I know what I’m like.’ She sighed, then elbowed her in the side. ‘Thanks for being cool about it. I didn’t mean anything by not telling you. I only told Chuckles because we were drinking -’ 

‘Jack knows?’ Now she felt a pang of discomfort. Jokes were the way forward. ‘Oh, so _Jack_ _’s_ the favourite -’ 

‘We were _drinking_ …’ 

‘No, no, I get it -’ 

‘ _Lily_.’ Dory clutched her sleeve, and when she used her name she realised it was serious. ‘I’m sorry. I really have no idea what I’m doing and everything’s going to _shit_ \- I mean, if Mulciber can attack Aubrey for no reason, what’s he going to do to Mary, his _favourite_ target, if he gets half an excuse to pay her attention -’ 

‘Hey, hey…’ Frowning, Lily clasped her hand. ‘Relax. You’re not doing anything wrong. And you don’t need to apologise to me. You don’t _owe_ me these secrets. And Mary will be okay. She’s not isolated, she’s not friendless, we all know now to look out for Mulciber being a little shit.’ 

‘Maybe,’ said Dory, ‘but he’s not being a little shit any more, he’s being a fucking cult leader and nobody, not _nobody_ is standing up to him. Or his cronies.’ 

At the time, Lily argued. Not ten minutes later, as they headed down through the school towards the Herbology greenhouses, it became apparent how very wrong she was. Fifth Year Slytherin Evan Rosier slammed Muggle-born Fourth Year Hufflepuff Smithson into a wall, seemingly devoid of provocation. Lily’s hand went to her wand, even though Dory, next to her, hissed, ‘ _Don_ _’t_ ,’ and she might have ignored her had there not been, mercifully, a new arrival in the crowded corridor. 

‘ _Rosier_! Smithson! What’s this all about?’ Dearborn stalked over, and Lily’s heart sank as she soaked in his white shirt, red tie; how very _Muggle_ he looked as he approached. 

Evan Rosier smiled at him like nothing was wrong. ‘Just some joshing about, sir.’ He shook Smithson’s shoulder. ‘Isn’t it?’ 

And little Smithson, pale, gave a series of jerky nods. ‘Just jokes, sir. We’re just playing around.’ 

Dearborn stared at him, as if silently willing him to speak up. Lily couldn’t blame the boy for staying quiet. How often had something like this been reported, only for the likes of Abernathy to make sure it got swept to one side, so the perpetrators could inflict further harm on a tattler later? The whole school _knew_ it was Mulciber who’d attacked Bertram Aubrey, and yet nothing had been done to him, or Carrow, or their ilk. Lily didn’t know if Aubrey had told staff it was them or not, but it made no difference. 

The teachers couldn’t help them. 

Dearborn gave them as stern a warning against roughhousing in the corridors as he could without punishing them both, but then traffic in the corridors swept Lily and Dory onward, past the scene of institutionalised ineffectiveness, and onward to class which couldn’t seem less important if it tried. 

‘You look cheerful,’ Jack observed when he fell into step beside them, emerging out from the stairs leading from the Hufflepuff common room. 

‘Let’s get to Herbology,’ Lily said. ‘At least I can stand the sight of Sprout.’ 

‘So it’s a good day.’ 

‘It’s just a day,’ Dory told him. ‘Same as any other.’ 

‘Yeah,’ grunted Jack. ‘People get the shit kicked out of them and nobody else cares. Sounds the same as any other.’ 

‘ _I_ care,’ said Lily. 

‘For all the bloody good that does,’ said Jack. ‘Don’t mean nothing by it, Lily, but you get angry about it all, you ain’t gonna achieve nothing except for walking around with a fucking ulcer in your gut. Bastards like Mulciber do what they want, the school does nothing, and people like us can either get out of the way or get stomped on. S’how it goes.’ 

She looked over her shoulder at him as they walked. ‘This from the guy who got beaten up to get Mary out of trouble.’ 

He shrugged. ‘You ran in there.’ 

‘So you’re blaming _me_?’ 

Dory raised her hands. ‘Woah, this got all accusing awfully quick -’ 

‘Not _blaming_ ,’ said Jack, indolent. ‘Made my choice. But my choice was to save _you_ from a kicking. Not so much about Macdonald. I like the girl, but what are we gonna do, throw ourselves into every scrap? They’ll fucking _kill_ us, Lily. Face it. Teachers don’t care. Most of the school don’t care so long as they ain’t being targeted. At best, we can pick our battles. And our battles ain’t the ones out in the open. Or, not even a battle; battle means like it’s a fuckin’ war. We’re here to _survive_.’ 

‘Whoever’s writing _Gutters_ is fighting a battle.’ 

‘Sure,’ said Jack, ‘except nobody knows who that is, ‘cos they got the sense to stay anonymous. Can’t fight someone you can’t see. Problem is, you can’t exactly stand up beside someone you can’t see, neither. Or hide behind ‘em. And you can bet your arse Mulciber decided to go after _someone_ ‘cos of _Gutters_. Aubrey was probably just the poor fucker in the wrong place at the wrong time, with Mulciber spoiling for a fight.’ 

‘You think _Gutters_ is just going to get people who had nothing to do with it in trouble?’ said Dory unhappily. Jack shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. Lily knew, on some level, he was just as rattled as the rest of them by Mulciber’s attacks. A tension had settled in the gut, she reckoned, of every Muggle-born when they’d heard, as the grisly details had crept across the school. The targeting, the attack - the mutilation. 

But she couldn’t help feel a little resentful towards him. ‘ _Gutters_ is bloody well _doing_ something.’ 

_Unlike me_. 

Outside the Great Hall, the last of the lunch crowd beginning to disperse, Lily spotted a familiar sight and squeezed Dory’s arm quickly. ‘I’ll catch up; don’t wait for me,’ she said, before sweeping through the mob to slide up next to Wick, heading out with Nathaniel McKinnon and the others. ‘Hey -’ 

He actually started at the sight of her, and only now did she notice the bags under his eyes, the muss of his hair, the slump of his shoulders. He smiled at once, worn but apologetic, putting a hand to her elbow. ‘Lily - I’m sorry, you startled me. Is something wrong?’ 

She blinked. ‘No - I just wanted to say, Remus is pulling double prefect patrol shift tonight; I covered for him while he was off. Did you want to meet up?’ 

‘I…’ Wick hesitated, and rubbed his eyes. ‘No, of course. That’ll be splendid.’ 

She cocked her head. ‘You okay?’ 

Nathaniel, next to him, groaned, ‘Don’t get him started,’ and pressed on. ‘See you in class, Wick.’ 

Wick’s lips tightened, pained. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have much time. We’ll talk later?’ 

It was a reasonable request, and yet still Lily felt her own tension return to her shoulders. ‘It’s not serious, is it?’ 

‘It’s nothing _new_ , I assure you. The same deluge of small-minded, petty violence that’s plagued us for weeks.’ 

She squeezed his arm. ‘Aubrey?’ 

He slumped. ‘I don’t suppose you heard why they attacked him? That is, aside from their desire to impress their so-called betters with more prejudiced attacks and demonstrations of intolerance…’ Wick sighed and shook his head. ‘He was singing. Beatles, he says. I suppose in their ignorant, small-minded way, they mistook it for Lennon, mistook it for a direct insult instead of a mere happy expression of his own culture, mistook it for _my_ strike against them -’ 

Eyes widening, Lily moved to clutch both his hands. It felt startlingly similar to the reassurance she’d poured at Potter earlier. ‘This wasn’t _you_. Even if he _had_ been singing the song, it’s no excuse, it’s no real provocation, it’s no _blame_ to fall on you -’ 

‘Perhaps not.’ His gaze dropped. ‘But it’s a fine thing I’ve done, isn’t it. In attempting to make some sort of stand against them, have I simply pointed a target? Have I simply equipped every Muggle-born who wants to think of their own blasted society with a red flag they can wave unwittingly in front of the bulls? Have I -’ 

‘ _Wes_.’ That did stop him short, and she stepped in, leaned up to kiss the corner of his lips. ‘Regret for acts like yours is what they _want_ us to feel. So nobody opposes them.’ 

‘I didn’t _oppose_ them,’ he sighed. ‘Opposition would suggest I achieved something.’ 

She bit her lip and glanced down the corridor. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she promised, knowing they were due in class soon. ‘We will. We’ll get through this, Wes.’ 

Then she leaned up to kiss him, kiss him properly like she didn’t normally dare to in the middle of school crowds. Not out of shame, but because it was nobody else’s business and she didn’t normally want to invite the whoops and teasing that came with it. Today, though, she was happy to give him the public comfort, happy to make the demonstration that two Muggle-borns could stand without - 

‘That’s _quite_ enough from you both, Wick, Evans,’ scolded Abernathy as he swept out of the Great Hall. ‘Have some decorum about you.’ 

Which was when the tension twisting in Lily’s gut started to burn. 

_Where the fuck were you_ , she asked Abernathy’s retreating back as she left Wick, started down the corridors towards Herbology alone, _when Jack was being beaten up? When Snape went for Dixon? When Mulciber went for Aubrey? But you_ _’ll yell at me for_ this… 

She hadn’t caught up with the others by the time she was out of the halls and into the open air, onto the path winding down towards the greenhouses, so it was alone she stalked in her bubbling frustration. Head down, hands shoved in her pockets, it was easier to push away the outside world lest she pick up on every misstep, every inequality, every gibe. 

So she was a full minute’s walk onto the grounds before she heard the yelling. 

The Slytherin Quidditch team had just finished practice, which meant Muggle-born Gryffindor Keeper Kendricks had run right into them on his way down for his Care of Magical Creatures lesson. He must have been late, or running some errand, because none of his friends were with him, and anyone passing down this stretch of path gave the mob a wide berth, pressing on with their day as if nothing was happening. And ignoring that Wilkes was holding him down on a bench while Amycus Carrow cast the _Aguamenti_ spell continuously in his face. 

It was just the two of them and Regulus Black, sneering beside the bench with his arms folded across his chest, but that was enough to make nobody step in, out here with any teacher several minutes’ summons away. Three Slytherins, two of them big bruisers and one of them a talent with a wand, and nobody in the smattering of bystanders trying to pretend they were anywhere else about to make any sort of move. She almost joined them. Almost kept her head down, almost gave them a wide berth, because there was just _one_ of her and to do anything was madness, so she forced her hand to move away from her wand, forced herself to keep walking. 

Then Kendricks gave a gargled, half-drowned noise of protest and panic and flailed against Wilkes’ grip, and she found herself stopping and turning. 

She’d been here before, with Amycus Carrow no less, only it had been Mary and there’d been fewer Slytherins, and it had ended _very_ poorly. But her grip on her wand was different this time; not so white-knuckled, Potter’s tips on how to keep an easier, more flexible grasp in a fight even if she was tense ringing in her ears. She walked differently, too, more poised, more ready, and there wasn’t the expected shake in her voice when she finally called out, angrier than she realised, ‘ _Hey_! Leave him alone!’ 

Carrow did stop casting, and the cold winter’s air was filled with Kendricks gasping for breath, panting, panicked. Wilkes didn’t let go, but Regulus Black did step back to face her as Carrow turned, his wand in hand. ‘ _Evans_. This doesn’t usually go so good for you, does it?’ 

Nobody was behind her and few of the passers-by were stopping - slowing, gawking as they saw another lamb march out to the slaughter - but she’d started now. She halted, keeping her wand in a low guard the like Potter recommended for deflections. It made her slower on the attack, made her need an extra split-second to bring the wand back to gather the force for a hex, but to get through this she needed to keep her head on her shoulders. Literally. 

‘Three of you, one Kendricks? Do you guys know anything about a fair fight?’ She cocked her head. ‘And if you think a Muggle-born’s not worth half a “real” wizard, doesn’t that make this even more embarrassing odds for you?’ 

Regulus Black clicked his tongue. ‘I don’t think we’re the ones facing the bad odds here, Evans. Perhaps you should give up on calculations and keep walking.’ 

It was smart advice, a small voice in Lily’s head whispered. He had to be the smart one. ‘No.’ 

Amycus Carrow scowled and straightened. ‘ _Look_ , Evans, you got your warning. Piss off, or -’ 

‘Or, what? Or this stops being three of you jumping someone, taking him unawares? So this becomes a fight - not a beat-down, a _fight_ , the like of which is _so much_ harder for teachers to brush under the carpet, ignore? You keep Kendricks pinned down there, you can run off the moment you spot trouble, you can pretend this is just _joshing around_. But the more we stand here, the more I call you racist, cowardly _bastards_ , the harder it is for anyone to ignore this.’ Her heart was thudding in her chest loud enough to deafen, and she could feel the blood rushing in her ears, feel her knees threaten to wobble. Cold wind dragged across the grounds, digging into her skin like hooks threatening to rip her apart, but the bystanders were stopping, looking, giving up _ignoring_. 

Carrow sighed. ‘No,’ he said and, grinning, glanced back to his friends. ‘There’s not going to be a fight -’ 

The six Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers she’d gone through hadn’t done her combat skills any favours. A month ago, she wouldn’t have seen the spell coming; wouldn’t have clocked how Carrow was bringing his wand back in readiness even as he feigned indifference. But Potter’s lessons rang loud and clear, instinct by now, because he’d tried taking her by surprise over and over in lessons, and she’d learnt how to spot it by now. 

Which meant she was ready when Carrow’s Stun rocketed across the distance between them, and she deflected it almost without thinking. 

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Lily drawled, not feeling courageous so much as _drunk_ , like bravado had robbed her of wits and gone straight to her head. ‘Was that meant to be a sucker punch? Or is this where you realise you - the great Amycus Carrow - can’t immediately take down _one_ Muggle-born alone and all three of you have to try me?’ A moral victory, she reflected as Carrow exchanged glances with Black and Wilkes, was probably about to be very painful. 

So the only thing to do, really, was hex him first. He didn’t see it coming, her Leg-Locker Curse thudding into his gut, and he reeled and fell. Someone in the crowd of bystanders, whose flow down to classes has slowed like molasses, tittered. And Lily realised she was _really_ in trouble. 

Regulus Black side-stepped, wand whipping up, and she had to turn to face him fully, take a proper stance so she could Shield against his curse. Then Wilkes went for his wand and she knew it was all over, because there was no way she could take two at once - 

Which was when Kendricks rose from the bench, sopping wet, and kicked Wilkes in the back of the knee. ‘And stay down!’ 

He wouldn’t, of course. Kendricks’ wand was lost somewhere in the fight, and Wilkes had just been hit, not hexed. He got to his feet about the same time as Carrow did, able to cast the counter-curse, and while that made it two Muggle-borns against three Slytherins, Kendricks was unarmed and disorientated. Lily could feel the rising dread threatening to lodge in her throat as Carrow and Black both turned to her. 

Then a blasting curse blew a chunk of masonry out of the bench. ‘Oi! _Shit-eyes_! Ain’t we due another round?’ 

Lily’s head snapped around to see Jack, wand upraised, at the head of a small mob of the Herbology NEWT class. Dory was next to him, Mary a step behind them, even Karen Richmond and Angus Dobbs and others, and beyond them, Lily suspected, Sprout wouldn’t be much further. 

‘You _missed_ ,’ Dory pointed out. ‘Look, it’s like _this_.’ Regulus turned in time to block her hex, but the point was made, and the three Slytherins froze. 

Lily took a step forward, gaze locked on Carrow. Behind him, Kendricks began to slink away. ‘Do you want to carry on? Three of you against all of us, and none of us are pure-bloods so that might be even odds by your definition? If we’re only half as good as you?’ 

‘You stupid _bitch_ ,’ snarled Carrow. ‘Do you think this is it?’ But he raised a hand to Regulus and Wilkes, and they slunk in behind him, wands shifting to defensive grips rather than looking like they’d reopen hostilities. 

‘No,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘I think this is just today. It’s a start, isn’t it? And go tell your boss Psycho Mulciber that. This is a _start_.’ She didn’t know where that came from, this sudden burst of defiance - the drunken bravado, no doubt, now acrid in her mouth like bad whisky and twice as likely to make her lose her head. 

A muscle twitched in the corner of Carrow’s jaw, and for a moment she thought he’d fight. Then he looked from her to the smirking Jack and the tense Dory and the others coming still - most of them bystanders, most of them looking uncertain, but for all she’d dismissed Amycus Carrow as a dumb brute, he had to know how a crowd could turn on a the flip of a coin, and he now looked like he didn’t fancy his chances quite so well. ‘Come on,’ he grunted at the other two and, backs straight, trying to keep as much of their wounded pride as they could muster, they turned and hurried on back towards the castle. 

The gathered watched them go, all silent, as if they were all holding their breaths on the result and couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. Then Dory tucked her wand away and clapped. ‘Woo! Yeah, you _better_ run!’ 

This was said, despite jubilation, only once the Slytherins were pretty safely out of earshot, but it was enough to make Lily beam at her. ‘You guys,’ she said, at last relaxing her iron-tight grip on her wand, ‘have _amazing_ timing.’ 

‘Yeah, well, we figured it’d take a disaster for you to be late for class,’ said Jack, shrugging ‘Real end of the world crap. And Dobbs mentioned the mob.’ 

Angus Dobbs, Ravenclaw and best friend of the pure-blood Rufus Burke, who to Lily’s eyes had never had to worry about being on the wrong side of this kind of disaster before - popular, musician, well-liked - brushed his hair out of his eyes self-consciously. ‘I didn’t see much,’ he said apologetically, glancing to Kendricks, ‘but I supposed they’d be up to no good. Besides. I share a dorm with Aubrey.’ 

‘I think they were more interested in drowning me,’ said Kendricks, who retrieved his wand before turning to Lily. ‘Thanks, Evans. I really mean it, even though I reckon you’re in for a world of trouble after it - I didn’t bloody _do_ anything to them…’ 

‘There’s nothing you could have done to prompt that,’ said Lily, straightening, and looked to the small gathering of students that had slid to a halt. She was suddenly aware how much all eyes had locked on her, how much she’d been watched, stared at - hoped for. ‘But you saw how just one person managed to knock them off balance right then. And how more of you stepping in saw them off. I meant what I said, and I bloody well hope he _does_ go tell Randal Mulciber. This is a start.’ 


	23. My Name is Called Disturbance

_Hey! Think the time is right for a palace revolution_   
_But where I live the game to play is compromise solution._   
_-_ _‘Street Fighting Man,’ The Rolling Stones (1968)_

 

The sellotape around his cigarette packet peeled as he picked at it. Easy, far too easy. Just one determined tug and there it’d be, open, inviting, Silk Cut free for the taking. He’d been so good the last three months and now, with November dying to become December, the itch was coming back. Perhaps it was just time. The longer he went without a smoke, the worse it’d be. Or the year was getting worse and worse and this was the way he knew to make it better. That wasn’t the problem. The pack was there for emergencies, after all. 

But he was stood waiting outside of Potions, and this was the last place in the school he could get away with lighting up. Even in the Great Hall he might get lost in the crowd. But Slughorn had a nose like a bloodhound for unexpected, unwelcome scents, and he’d rumble Jack inside a minute. 

He’d got there a little early, which he realised was a mistake when Marlene rounded the corner, blonde hair tied back in a long plait for cauldron-work. She faltered at the sight of him, that hesitation he knew well, where someone was considering turning around and going the other way. The knots of defied frustration twisted in his gut. 

‘McKinnon,’ he called out in gruff greeting, because if she was going to blank him, he wasn’t going to make it easier. 

She walked over slowly, fiddling with her plait. ‘No Lily?’ 

‘She’ll be here, don’t doubt it. Told me to not wait for her at breakfast.’ His lip curled. ‘She’s with _Potter_.’ 

‘Oh.’ Marlene’s nose wrinkled. ‘You know, the two of them are spending a lot of time together lately but I didn’t think they even liked each other -’ 

‘Nobody thought they liked each other. On account of how loud and how often Lily’s called him an arsehole. But, so it goes.’ _She comes down to breakfast last minute, which means I got to stay at the Hufflepuff table because I_ _’ll go over if Lily’s there but not if it’s Dory with Mary and the girls_. It made breakfast a lonely process, so he’d come down to Potions quicker. ‘Suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.’ 

‘Shouldn’t we?’ 

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘He’s the prince of poncy wizards, ain’t he? Heir to the hair fortune.’ Jack let the pronunciation of both words mingle and snorted derisively at his own pun. ‘And she’s now, what, Queen of the Movement?’ 

‘Hardly a _queen_ , though it sounds like she did a rather good job seeing off Carrow like that; I suppose if James _is_ teaching her these sorts of things then it’s paying off well. Carrow’s a frightful sort -’ 

‘He’s a brute, but a coward. Not the hardest one out there to beat. The real problem’s when Mulciber decides he’s got to put people back in their place.’ _And then heads will roll_. 

‘You think he’s going to do something especially bad?’ 

‘I think “especially bad” is all Mulciber does. And I think Lily’s playing with fire and she’s not just going to get herself burnt.’ His fingertips itched, and he would have given up and gone for the cigarette packet. But Marlene was already looking at him with guarded apprehension, and he didn’t fancy completing her image of him by scandalising her further. She’d just take it as validation. 

‘I think,’ she said after a moment’s thoughtful silence, ‘that she’s realising how important the war is, how important the war’s going to _be_ once we’re all out of school.’ 

‘Mulciber and Carrow cracked my ribs two months ago - I know exactly how important the war is -’ 

Her gaze went pained. ‘I didn’t mean that.’ 

‘I don’t need _Lily_ to tell me the war’s important, just because she made a public bloody show of it.’ He straightened up, hated how she took a step back at that. ‘We ain’t the mindless masses who don’t know what’s good for us, until Lily comes along. Not just Lily - Lily, trained by _Potter_ , a good pure-blood boy, and he started the fight for us with the Quidditch game, didn’t he -’ 

‘But I don’t think he can do it all and he _shouldn_ _’t_ do it all,’ Marlene pressed, urgent in getting a word in sideways. ‘I think it’s good that Lily did what she did because surely, _surely_ Mulciber and the rest have to see that they can be beaten, and see that they can be beaten by a Muggle-born?’ 

‘What,’ Jack snorted, ‘because it’s more embarrassing if they’re beaten by a Muggle-born -’ 

‘ _Yes_ , actually, for them. And if they hated being beaten by Lily, there’s nothing they’d hate more than being beaten by you.’ 

He stiffened. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ 

She winced. ‘I didn’t - Corrigan, I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that, it’s what I think _they_ think, not what _I_ think -’ 

‘No,’ he said, straightening up, voice a low rumble. ‘Go on, McKinnon.’ 

She started wringing her hands together. ‘ _Only_ that they really hate you, because you’re Muggle-born and because you’re - you’re -’ 

‘Poor?’ he supplied acidly. 

Her cheeks flushed bright red. ‘That’s how _they_ see it, they see you as someone who _really_ doesn’t belong. Lily can sometimes pretend a bit better but you can’t -’ 

‘No, not me. Jack couldn’t possibly go puttin’ on airs ‘n graces, could ‘e -’ 

‘I mean this makes it _so much_ your cause, Corrigan! Not just Lily’s! If you think Lily upset them, if you think Lily struck a blow, then imagine what it’d be like if you did.’ 

He folded his arms across his chest, went back to lounging against the wall. ‘Instead of bitching and smoking and thugging around.’ 

Her gaze turned downward, and she stayed silent for a few long moments, only eventually drawing a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you. I truly only meant to say that I think there’s a place, a very important place, for people other than Lily - and supporters like James and I - in what’s coming. And you’re her _friend_ , or so I thought -’ 

‘Don’t you bloody question that,’ he spat. _The question don_ _’t go that way ‘round_. 

She flinched. ‘I - I have some things to talk about with Professor Slughorn,’ she stammered, before hurrying around him and rushing into the classroom. 

He slumped once she was gone, head thudding back against the wall, eyes slamming shut. ‘ _Shit_ ,’ he hissed. ‘Good goin’, Jack. Top marks.’ 

Laughter forced him to straighten, not look like he was falling into a pit of self-hatred, but his mood wasn’t helped by the foursome rounding the corner. Potter and Black led the way, joking and jostling as they always did, but behind them was Lily, walking and talking in a more sedate fashion with Lupin. A month ago, she’d have never walked with them down a corridor, even if she was only properly talking to her fellow prefect, even if Jack could see her throw the odd, disapproving look at Potter and especially Black. 

He tried to not scowl at her, but must have failed because Potter wandered right up and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Cheer up, Corrigan, it might never happen.’ 

Jack’s expression didn’t change, except for him to look to Lily. ‘How was _practice_?’ he asked through gritted teeth. 

She brushed a lock of hair behind an ear with a sudden air of self-consciousness. ‘It was fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d wait.’ 

‘He was waiting for me,’ said Potter. ‘We’ve got important potion-ing to do today -’ 

Class was a disaster. Normally, Jack could keep his head down and get on with it, chop away at ingredients and follow Potter’s instructions and give the odd bit of input himself. He knew he was outclassed by his partner in pretty much every bit of the discipline, but Potter was an alright sort about it, his promptings well-meaning enough that they didn’t fight. Most days. 

‘You want to shed the skin with the silver knife -’ 

‘It’s _fine_ with steel,’ Jack spat back. 

Potter grimaced, the classroom around them its own bubbling cauldron of teamwork and team-fail, ingredients and planning and brewing. So he tried to keep his voice low. ‘There’s a difference between “fine” and “great,” and with a silver blade we can do great.’ 

Jack slammed the steel knife down and reached for the silver, glowering at Potter all the way. ‘Not everyone’s got to do things the way you say, you know.’ 

Potter gave an awkward smile. ‘I know - but I really am right with this thing.’ 

‘With this thing, sure. With Mulciber? You right basically up until you get one of us killed?’ Jack shifted on his stool to glare at him. ‘An’ it’ll be one of _us_ , Potter. Probably not even Lily, so you don’t need to worry about getting pretty blood on your hands - it’ll be someone like me, or Hargreaves, or Rakesby or Smithson. You know, the ones even the _good_ Mudbloods call _scum_.’ 

‘Woah, I’m not looking for trouble with you, Corrigan. Evans is your friend, and I’m just trying to do right by all of this -’ Potter went to put a hand on his shoulder. 

Jack found his arm knocking Potter’s away before he knew what he was doing, and in the next heartbeat he was on his feet. Dimly he was aware of all eyes in the classroom falling on him, especially Lily, Black, Marlene, aware of the class fading to tense silence. ‘Don’t talk down to me,’ he snapped at Potter. ‘Don’t pretend like you’re my mate, and _don_ _’t_ fuckin’ touch me, alright? We didn’t _ask_ for you to come swanning in like our _saviour_ , and just one of us accepting you don’t give you the _right_ -’ 

It might have got worse if he hadn’t, as he took a split second to gather his outraged thoughts, heard a snicker from the back of the class. He didn’t have to look around to know who it was: Saul Avery, the guy who’d been giggled at behind his back since the release of _Gutters_ , but already the tables had turned. Already he’d gone and made a scene, angry, blundering brute that he was, and it was enough to get one of the worst pure-blood pricks laughing at him. And when he looked around the classroom wildly, he saw only the usual looks from everyone else. Shock, disapproval and, he would swear was in Lily’s eyes, embarrassment. 

Slughorn rose from his desk. ‘Corrigan, if you’d sit down -’ 

‘Nah,’ he snapped, stepping away from the bench. ‘I reckon _fuck_ this.’ 

Then he was out the door before anyone could stop him, the Potions professor’s call echoing down the corridor and in his ears. 

He found a quiet place to smoke that morning, out by the Great Lake, nobody else around because they were all supposed to be in class. Frost still kissed each blade of grass, making it solid like a knife when he walked across it, stifling the breeze or the rustle of dead leaves or the sounds of the wilderness. Winter really had arrived, and it brought with it a silence he couldn’t break, with all his anger, unless he started shouting at the skies. He got through four fags before the crowds rose back in the castle, very few leaving the grounds, which meant he saw Dory and Lily coming a mile off. 

‘Well,’ he sneered, ‘that took longer than I expected.’ 

Lily put her hands on her hips, frowning. ‘We had to still sit through class, _then_ I had to find Dory, and then we had to find _you_ -’ 

‘That’s not what he means,’ said Dory, kicking at the solid ground. ‘Is it?’ 

He didn’t answer, taking his time with his next drag on the cigarette. ‘I’d offer you a smoke but these are for emergencies.’ 

Lily stepped forward, lips thinning. It seemed to take a supreme effort for her to talk gently. ‘Jack, what’s going on?’ 

‘You don’t got to pretend, s’alright, Evans.’ He rolled a shoulder. ‘You guys just go back to the Great Hall for lunch an’ we won’t have to say no more on it.’ 

Her brow furrowed. ‘Except you’re obviously upset, so we’re not going to leave you like this.’ 

Dory turned to Jack, gaze somehow triumphant. ‘ _See_?’ 

Lily looked at her. ‘Are you having a completely different conversation to everyone else?’ 

‘No,’ said Dory, ‘but you two are.’ She elbowed Lily. ‘This is the bit where he thinks we ditch him as a liability, waste of space, insert whatever manly self-judgement you want here.’ 

Lily rounded on Jack. ‘What? That’s ridiculous. Is she being ridiculous?’ 

He frowned at his cigarette, jaw tight. ‘It’s sort of the pattern, innit.’ 

‘That’s _mad_ ,’ said Lily as Dory threw her hands in the air, as if appealing to a higher power for judgement for being so damn _right_. ‘We’re your _friends_ , Jack, we came out here because we were _concerned_ , not to _yell_ at you.’ 

‘Though she is doing quite a lot of yelling, I grant you,’ said Dory. 

‘I don’t get why you snapped at Potter today,’ Lily pressed on, ignoring her. ‘But I sometimes get the overwhelming urge to shout at him, so I’m not going to judge. It was about what you _said_ , Jack, and your reaction, and you storming off like that. I thought you were _pleased_ we took on Carrow.’ 

‘ _You_ took on Carrow,’ spat Jack, turning to them sharply. ‘And no, I ain’t happy, an’ I was _sayin_ _’_ that just that bloody morning, weren’t I?’ 

‘You said you didn’t think it’d get anyone anywhere! It _did_ help, though, didn’t it - it helped Kendricks!’ 

‘And who’s next? Who does Mulciber go for like he went for Aubrey, at night and out of sight? An’ he’ll do it _more_ now - now you’ve gone an’ _pissed him off_ -’ 

‘Then we’ll stop _him_!’ said Lily, stomping forward. ‘Whenever we can, as often as we can.’ 

‘Simple as that, huh?’ 

‘Of course not. But we have to try, don’t we? We have to step up whenever we can, look out for each other - look out for all the Muggle-borns and make sure nobody gets left alone or shunted to one side and make sure that if someone gets into trouble, we _hear_ so we can _help_.’ 

‘That’s not a plan,’ Jack spat. ‘That ain’t even half a plan, that’s a hope. Unless you’ve been going off an’ makin’ plans with _Potter_ -’ 

Lily stepped back, eyes widening. ‘Is that what this is about? Me spending time with Potter? Me _talking_ about this with Potter? I -’ For a moment he thought she was going to argue again, get righteous again, but then she lifted a hand to her temples and groaned. ‘Oh, my God. I’ve spent so long making sure Wick isn’t threatened by this that I didn’t really stop and worry about you two, did I.’ 

Jack glanced at Dory. ‘I don’t know how Dory feels,’ he admitted. 

‘Hey, I don’t want to be brought into this,’ came the quick response. 

Lily straightened. ‘No, you should, both of you. Because you’re my friends. Because you’re the friends who make me feel comfortable at Hogwarts like I haven’t in a long time - maybe ever - and I’ve not really made that clear to you, have I?’ 

He rolled a shoulder. ‘I don’t exactly need a Valentine’s card from you -’ 

‘But maybe I could make what I’m thinking clearer,’ said Lily, slumping. ‘And maybe I could share my ideas with you better. I’m sorry. I’ve been so used to, for so long, keeping my head down and trusting my own thoughts, my own judgement, because there weren’t any people around me I _could_ trust. Now I’ve got you two, I’m still… I’m getting used to it.’ 

‘I thought you had Potter,’ Jack mumbled. 

‘ _Bugger_ Potter,’ she said with sudden vehemence. ‘Potter didn’t bring me to the McKinnon party just to cheer me up.’ 

‘Er,’ said Dory, ‘is this the time I admit I brought you two because I didn’t want to show up alone and I knew you two wouldn’t already have plans?’ 

‘We know that,’ Lily said, which relieved Jack because he hadn’t wanted to admit it. ‘I _know_ we ended up together because Dory decided it and - and because we didn’t _have_ anyone else, any of us.’ She stepped forward, reached out to grab both of them by the arm. Jack’s instinct said to pull back, but then her fingers were curling in his robes and it had been a long time since someone grabbed hold of him quite so tight, quite so determinedly. ‘But now I really can’t imagine school without you guys. I don’t _want_ to. And I’m sorry if I’ve been taking you for granted.’ 

He dropped his gaze, kicked at grass frozen solid. ‘You ain’t,’ he mumbled. ‘That ain’t it.’ 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girls exchange glances, saw Dory pat Lily’s arm - she was fine, of course she was fine, she waltzed through everything without a blink or hesitation or insecurity - and Lily moved to his side, took his hand. ‘You,’ she said in a quiet, firm voice, ‘are a solid, decent guy. You’re our friend. You’re _my_ friend. And I’m sorry if I’ve been dragging you into fights that you don’t want, or not been including you in this. But you’re the guy who took a beating for us because _I_ decided to take on Mulciber. Potter and that lot? They pick fights they can win. I want the guy who stands up even when he _won_ _’t_.’ 

Jack drew a deep, hesitant breath, and forced himself to look her in the eye, green gaze piercing and, in a way, terrifying. ‘There are folks who’ll look down on you just ‘cos you’re next to the likes of me -’ 

‘ _Fuck_ them.’ 

‘…folks who might have your back in this fight but I ain’t the _good_ kind of Mudblood, the kind what scrubs up decent -’ 

‘I say again, _fuck_ them. Basically any argument you can make against me standing by you that boils down to “other people won’t like it” is countered with “fuck them.”’ She smiled wryly. 

He watched her for a moment, then tossed his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it. ‘Alright,’ he grunted at length. 

‘Oh _good_ ,’ said Dory, stamping her feet and rubbing her hands together. ‘Now we’re reaffirmed our fluffy commitment to each other, _can we get the fuck out of the cold_?’ 

Jack nodded and went to join her, but Lily paused, not letting go of his hand. ‘Hang on,’ she said, and when he looked back at her, she was staring at the tree, the ground - anything but looking at them. ‘Hang on, there’s - there’s something I should talk to you guys about. Tell you, I mean.’ 

‘Are you dying?’ squeaked Dory. ‘Because if not, we can talk about it in the warm.’ 

Jack pulled Dory over and threw an arm around her shoulder. He looked at Lily, sobering. ‘Go on.’ 

So she did, and Dory shut up the moment it became clear how serious it was. She told them about her mother, about her illness, about how _maybe_ the magical world could have saved her but how trying would have been against the rules. She said it without looking at them at first, then Jack found himself squeezing her hand when she explained how _she_ was the only one who could handle it, how neither of her parents could write the letters to the Ministry or Saint Mungo’s, and then she met their gazes and stepped in closer and they were a sad huddle bound by tension, grief, camaraderie in the cold. 

And when it was over, Jack knew he wasn’t the only one who hated the world of magic but belonged to it with every fibre of their being anyway. 

He went to class that afternoon, because really he needed to calm down and Lily promised she’d talk to Slughorn, get him to lay off and not make a fuss. Slughorn had always been sort of decent to him, probably because he’d not expected him to do very well in Potions but Jack was always at his best when working with his hands. There was a simple cause-and-effect to Potions that he could cope with, even if he was often ropey on the paperwork. 

Astronomy went alright, even if they _did_ only do the theory in the afternoon. He kept his head down and tried to ignore Avery, who sat in the back with Graham Mulciber and Leo Travers and all three of them, Jack would swear, spent half the time snickering at him. They were easier to ignore than Marlene, who was also on her own. He’d worked with her a little in the past, keeping his words terse and brief but remembering she and Lily were at least friendly so he should try. But she kept glancing at him and then looking away, and he couldn’t bring himself to apologise to _her_. 

This wasn’t the same all round. When class was done, he forced himself to hurry down to intercept one of the Ancient Runes classes, lurking in the corridor until he caught his target. ‘Potter.’ 

Potter wasn’t with his mob, for once, hanging with Burke and Dobbs and Wagtail, so left them mid-joke and waved them on ahead. Jack knew normally he wouldn’t stop, and wondered idly just how much power Lily held over him - and if Lily knew how much. ‘Corrigan. You alright?’ 

Jack’s jaw tightened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yeah. Was just stopping by,’ he lied. ‘Spotted you. Figured I should - look.’ He hesitated. ‘Shouldn’t have walked out on you in Potions this morning.’ 

Potter blinked - then grinned, and shook his head. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Look, I didn’t mean anything by what I was saying -’ 

‘It’s fine,’ Jack blurted. ‘You’re alright. It’s _them_ I’m pissed at, you know?’ 

Potter’s grin broadened, probably pleased at being separated from the arsehole pure-bloods. ‘I got it. And don’t sweat it over this morning. There are days _I_ want to tell Slughorn to sod off, too.’ 

He was trying a bit too hard, with his smiles and his easy acceptance. But Jack was only here for Lily’s sake, so she didn’t have to deal with fights between her friends, even if he wasn’t sure where she and Potter ended up these days. So he gave a tight smirk and nodded. ‘We’re alright, then.’ 

‘Yeah. And, hey, Corrigan, you want some, uh, tips like Evans and I are -’ 

‘I can take care of myself,’ he said, and managed to sound wry, not gruff as he stepped back. ‘Besides, I know you get your stuff done in Gryffindor Tower. But you should drag Dory into it.’ _She_ _’ll hate that_. ‘And Macdonald. People worry about her.’ But he didn’t want to linger on these points, shrugging. ‘Anyway, see you ‘round, Potter.’ 

‘Yeah - hey, Corrigan!’ Potter only called out once Jack was a few steps away, and when he looked back his stance was tense, awkward. ‘You’re Evans’ friend - her and Wick -’ 

‘Not your spy, Potter,’ Jack warned, then raised his hands. ‘Posh boy ain’t going nowhere. Sorry. And he’s a decent guy. Double sorry.’ 

‘Shit,’ said Potter philosophically. 

‘Yeah,’ Jack accepted, before stabbing an accusing finger at him. ‘If you’re just helping Lily to get into her knickers and you’ll ditch her ‘cos she’s more interested in Wick -’ 

‘I’m not!’ 

‘Good, ‘cos then you an’ I would have to have a serious disagreement. The kind I don’t storm off from.’ 

Potter grimaced. ‘I’m trying to help. Honest.’ 

Jack left it there, because one didn’t make a threat and then stop to chat, even if it was a polite, well-meaning threat. 

Dinner was a more civil affair than breakfast, and he remembered he’d missed lunch and was starving, so had no qualms about sitting at the Gryffindor table with Lily and Dory and eating all of the stewed beef down their end. Abernathy kept glaring at him, but McGonagall didn’t lift a finger or make a comment, so that was an evening well spent, joking with Dory and teasing the rest of the Gryffindor girls. Stump and Derby looked at him like dirt on his shoe, but that was funny so long as Dory and Lily didn’t care, and Mary went out of her way to be nice to him. She’d always been decent and polite, but she’d never forgotten the Mulciber fight. 

It made the Hufflepuff common room even gloomier in comparison, once he slumped down past the kitchens into the burrows most people found cosy and welcoming. To him they were still a prison, still somewhere he _had_ to be rather than _wanted_ to be. It had never been the home other Hufflepuffs painted it as, never been the sanctuary away from the pains of the rest of the school. Even when he and Leo had been friends, it had been the two of them rebelling against the sleepy, apathetic Hufflepuff comfort. 

He tried to get some Potions reading done, hiding himself away in a corner to play catch-up. Lily could bat for him against Slughorn all she wanted, but he’d still have to prove himself, and despite it all he did feel a little guilty for leaving Potter in the lurch like that. So he hit the books, scribbled the notes, and resented how obligation to other people made it easier to put his nose to the grindstone than it was when he was studying just for himself. 

Two hours later, he started to flag and Clagg started to flap. He sat in the middle of the common room, where big, circular sofas were pushed together in what was probably supposed to encourage a central, communal hub, the pollen at the heart of the flower. To Jack it had always been the seat of power, where the most self-important Hufflepuffs gathered and if you weren’t part of the Cool Kids you might as well lurk in a corner and be looked down on - because if you didn’t want to be best buds with your fellow Hufflepuffs, there was obviously something wrong with you. It was part and parcel of the passive aggression of the House, the sort of thing he’d laughed at with Leo in the past. 

But now Leo was part of it, lounging with Clagg and poor, stupid Paul Bane, and the weak ones like Stroulger. Laughing as Clagg held court on whatever had pissed him off today, but once Jack caught a few snippets, he couldn’t ignore it. 

‘…just, how do they think they’re going to change _anything_ by acting like _that_?’ 

‘I know,’ Leo was sighing. ‘Suppose they think it’s some sort of show of strength or show of change but it’s just _brutish_ , really.’ 

Paul Bane squirmed on the couch. ‘Yeah, but if Carrow’s kicking off -’ 

‘Then fetch a _teacher_.’ Clagg had a particularly nasal voice which made him hard to ignore and everything he said doubly annoying. ‘We’re a school - we’re one of the most respectable wizarding schools in the world - not some sort of Muggle fighting ring.’ 

‘It’s what they think is best,’ said Leo Travers. ‘You can’t expect much more. It’s not worth bothering yourself over, Bernie -’ 

‘They think this is change? They think this fixes things? This just rather proves everything we _say_ , really, doesn’t it?’ 

‘Carrow does kind of start things,’ Paul Bane muttered. 

But that was all he did - mutter and not really push it - and as Jack looked around the common room, looked at the other Hufflepuffs either listening or pretending to not listen, that was all they did. As Travers and Clagg held court on how damned _barbaric_ self-defence was, they kept their heads down or nodded and said and did absolutely nothing. 

If he’d been in a better mood, Jack might have accepted that he, too, had a track record of keeping his head down. And that might have been where it ended - his seething, their carrying on - if Clagg hadn’t next opened his mouth and said, ‘I suppose that ginger bitch thinks this is getting her somewhere.’ 

Which was when Jack threw down his book with a slam and erupted to his feet. ‘You wanna say that again?’ 

Silence rang out across the common room. This had happened before, but never so violently, and never when Travers and Clagg held the seats of power. So nobody said or did anything as Jack stalked over, hands in tight fists by his side. ‘Come on. You were so loud a second ago.’ 

Paul Bane stood and stepped back. ‘It’s just joking around, Corrigan -’ 

‘Bane, I’m talking to folks what got an opinion.’ Jack didn’t tear his gaze off Travers. ‘Leo?’ 

‘Oh, relax, Jack,’ sighed Travers. ‘You don’t need to take it so seriously, or come tromping over in such a _fuss_.’ 

Clagg snorted. ‘It’s what he does, Leo, he can’t help it.’ 

A fist in Jack’s gut tightened along with his hands. ‘Just like you can’t help being a _twat_?’ He stalked around the couches, and stabbed an accusing finger at the crowds of the common room. ‘An’ all of you _listen_ to him? Both of ‘em? Fair play and honesty and all that means sitting there like chickenshit cowards while this set of fuckheads rant and rave?’ 

‘It’s just - it’s not -’ Bane tried again, before sputtering and giving up. 

‘You don’t even _agree_ , Bane. You think of yourself as a _nice guy_ , you don’t want to upset nobody, so you don’t call ‘em on it.’ He was circling the couches now. ‘You know what, let’s stop asking the spineless or the fuckheads - hey, hey, Richmond!’ He rounded on his fellow Sixth Year Muggle-born, whose eyes widened. ‘Hey, you’re Sharon’s mate, that’s got to be fun, right? Paul sitting there an’ doing shit all when he’s next to people sayin’ you an’ I are a waste of fuckin’ air?’ 

She squirmed, giving Sharon an awkward look - and it was Sharon Bane who chirped up, looking at her brother. ‘No, it’s bullshit,’ she agreed. 

Karen Richmond gave a small nod, biting her lip. ‘It’s not fun,’ she admitted with that prompting. 

He could have kissed Sharon right then, but instead turned back to the centre, to Clagg and Travers. ‘You’re not talking what people need or want to hear. You’re talking shit.’ 

They both stood, Travers looking uncomfortable, Clagg looking oblivious. ‘It was a conversation,’ said Clagg. ‘You didn’t need to come barging in.’ 

‘This really _didn_ _’t_ need making into a public spectacle, Jack,’ Travers agreed, sounding like his old self, sounding like he did when someone had made a bullshit joke and he was trying to get Jack to calm down. 

It had rather the opposite effect, but then Clagg chirped up again. ‘I suppose he can’t help himself - he’s only got the option, when faced with something he doesn’t like, of acting like he’s going to hit someone. When he won’t, he’ll just rant and rave and hide behind his ginger bitch and not actually -’ 

Detention for two weeks for punching Bernard Clagg in the face turned out to be pretty damn worth it. 


	24. Whatever I Want

_Well, it_ _’s late and I want love,_   
_Love that_ _’s gonna break me in two._   
_\- Can_ _’t Get Enough, Bad Company (1974)_

Shadows of Slytherin common room wrapped themselves around him like a blanket. Most days this was warm and comforting, a shroud to hide his thoughts and at the same time bring him closer to his housemates. It brought solidarity to the matters they shared, and protected him from their eyes and thoughts when there was disparity in intent, in belief.

Today, the darkness brought a chill. Students entered, went about their business, and left quickly. To gather meant conversation, and conversation meant they would be heard, weighed, measured. Graham had to wonder if, on some level, this pleased his brother, that he could sit in state next to the crackling fireplace, brooding and staring, and warp the world around his ire. But it was hard to tell if Randal Mulciber could even see beyond the blackened grip upon him.

‘You do too little,’ came his gravelly tones as Graham passed him in the morning. ‘It won’t do.’

‘I’m going for _breakfast_ , Randal,’ he had to say. ‘I’m not trying to make a political statement over boiled eggs.’

‘And then?’ Randal lifted his gaze, blue eyes paler in the darkness. ‘Then you slink off to your lessons where you have to share labour with that dog.’

‘I have no _choice_. This is the school’s failing, brother, not mine.’

In truth, he had to share little to nothing with Amy Hargreaves. Not any more. Days after Muirne’s flight, he’d come down to his Care of Magical Creatures lesson to find her in agitated conversation with Kettleburn - or as agitated as she got. Tall and stern, she’d stood like a stone, all her anger crammed up as she explained in a tense voice that it was impossible for her to keep up their partnership.

Kettleburn was having none of it. ‘You’ll have to work with people you don’t like all the time, young lady. There are no more animals, and you can’t do this alone anyway. And it’s too late for you to swap! It’s ridiculous, it’s December now, you should have brought this up at the beginning of the year -’

‘I _did_ bring this up at the beginning of the year,’ she snapped, not caring that the rest of the class was watching, not caring that _Graham_ was watching. ‘You said -’

‘Then my judgements are final,’ he said, waving his hook under his nose, and that was that.

It made lessons with her in surly silence unpleasant to say the least. Mercifully, their care of Muirne outside of classes happened in shifts, so they didn’t have to see each other.

Though there were times he wondered if her surly silence was better than toiling alone. Even in tension it was difficult to deny the bond of honest labour, of working hard alongside one another, of sweat and effort and care, and of Muirne’s growing affection for both of them. That was, he supposed, why she stayed away all the more, and why she faded further and further into silence. He could almost hear her stewing, almost feel the broiling anger kept on a tight leash, and her confession after the flight echoed in his ears. How she’d _yearned_ for this world, only for this world to deny her. Only for her to retreat in response, brick up the doors others had slammed in her face.

And when he was sweating and tired, handing her a shovel without thinking - when she spoke to him without thinking - a part of him howled that he had become, yet again, part of a greater, monstrous act.

‘Don’t listen to Randal,’ Saul sighed in a sing-song voice as they left the common room. ‘You’d think he’d be angrier about _Gutters_ than Evans.’

‘You mean _you_ _’re_ angrier about _Gutters_ than Evans,’ Graham pointed out. The paper was more than a fortnight old by now, and still Avery acted as if he had suffered some great indignity. Graham thought the offence it had dealt the Avery family was nothing compared to what he, Randal and Madeline had suffered. An admission of influence in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was embarrassing but held its own pride, surely. The Mulcibers could never command such corruption.

‘She ran rings around Amycus,’ said Saul. ‘That’s hardly the achievement to have us quaking in our boots.’

‘Regulus was there.’

‘So was _Wilkes_. Reg’s a good fellow, but he’s just one man, confronted with shrill indignation and backed up by nothing but dumb muscle.’

‘There are implications. The Hufflepuff fight -’

‘If we worried about a political revolution every time Jack Corrigan punched someone, we’d be in the middle of the French Risings,’ said Saul. ‘It’s only Bernard Clagg, too; he’s a second-rate little half-breed who thinks he can get himself somewhere clinging to Travers’ coattails. The man’s too good for him.’

Graham remembered Leonard Travers as something of a black sheep of his family, who had eschewed doing the right thing by the right principles for years. Rumblings had reached him over summer, mostly through Saul - who kept an ear to the ground on these things - of the matriarch Melisende Travers putting her foot down with her truculent son. It had worked, in evidence, for Leo Travers had come running to Randal for approval, another smirking face saying the right things at the right time. Graham wasn’t fooled by Saul’s approval; he saw him as a rival, no doubt, but one on whom Saul had a lead. This was likely why he didn’t care too much about the ongoings in the Hufflepuff common room - if Travers couldn’t handle a thug like Jack Corrigan, that reflected poorly on him.

So all Graham did was shrug and keep silent through breakfast. Randal skipped the meal, so Saul claimed his seat at the head of the table. Amycus might have once aspired to it, but Amycus still smarted from his defeat at Evans’ hands. Graham wasn’t that surprised when Alecto slid onto the bench beside him, and helped herself to one of his strips of toast with a smirk she likely thought playful.

‘The toast basket’s _right there_ ,’ he pointed out.

Her smile flickered. ‘Don’t deny me my fun, Graham.’

‘He’s no fun at all,’ said Saul. ‘In a mood, I think, because of his pet beast. Oh, and the horse.’

Saul was, Graham suspected, bitter from his pointing out _Gutters_ had turned personal. But frustration twisted in his gut at the words anyway - at Saul, at Alecto for her presumption, at Hargreaves for shutting off and running away as if she could deny the reality they lived in. ‘That’s not funny.’

Saul merely smirked at Alecto. ‘See?’

She dropped the toast back on his plate. ‘You can only ignore me so long, Graham, before _I_ lose interest. I can play the game, too.’

He beheaded his boiled egg in one savage swing, not looking at her. ‘I’m not playing any games.’

Alecto’s face fell, and she pushed herself to her feet. ‘You’re right. This _did_ stop being fun.’

‘I thought I’d made that abundantly clear,’ said Graham with an indifferent dip of his toast in egg yolk, and when she stalked away down the table, back to Yaxley and Barkwith, he felt nothing. When he finally looked up at Saul, his best friend’s eyebrows were raised in, at last, hesitant question. ‘What?’

‘Bit cold, old chap,’ said Saul. ‘We were both only joking around, you know that?’

‘Alecto’s not funny enough to get away with it.’

‘Oh dear. The shine’s worn off?’

_There wasn_ _’t much shine to begin with_. Alecto was all eagerness to please fighting with a desire to stand on her own two feet. It made her intermittently cloying and condescending, then grating and abrasive. She fought to have independent thoughts that would still impress, like crafting new pieces of art which were still out of the same matter they all used, still of the same schools of thought. It made everything jarringly false and uninterestingly familiar, not to mention desperate. There was none of the tall confidence, indifferent individualism, authenticity of thought -

His next jab of his fork knocked the egg-holder over, and he almost spilt soppy yolk across his lap. With a noise of frustration, he stood. ‘I’m going down to the paddocks.’

‘Graham.’ Saul’s expression was, for once, sombre. ‘You don’t need to get so twisted up about it. It’s perfectly normal.’

‘What?’

‘Just fuck the girl, get it out of your system, and carry on with your life.’

He scowled. ‘Alecto?’

Saul snorted. ‘Hargreaves. Use her, discard her, feel better, move on.’

Graham didn’t answer, the twist in his stomach enough to make his half-eaten breakfast churn as he stalked from the Great Hall back down to the Slytherin common room. He had a free morning, all the more time to spend with Muirne and her training, to work intensively and not have to worry about anything but himself and the beast and her progress, but his brother still sat in state by the fireplace, glaring at the flames which were surely unnecessary this time of day.

‘Oh, give it a _bloody_ rest, Randal,’ he snapped, loud enough to make his brother’s head whip around and to make the few Slytherins still hurrying through the common room jump - not just at the sound, but the implication. ‘Get up and go to class, or otherwise actually _do_ something.’

Randal stared at him, eyes still pale in the gloom of the common room. When he got to his feet, it was with the slow deliberation of a mountain stirring from its rest, and when he turned for the dormitories, Graham knew this was a wordless summons he, despite his own bubbling frustration, had not the strength to ignore.

It meant they were alone in the stairwell before Randal stopped, and it meant nobody was there to see when he turned to grab Graham by the front of his robes and slam him into the wall. His head snapped back to crack on the hard stone walls, enough for stars to explode in front of his vision. Randal leaned in close, voice a low growl. ‘You don’t speak like that to me.’

Graham’s feet scrabbled for purchase on the floor. ‘You’ll - you’re getting nowhere brooding like -’

‘I have _choices_ to make, brother,’ Randal snarled. ‘The girl’s made a move and it needs a response, but if I stir _myself_ , then it validates her, _elevates_ her. This needs a different touch. This needs _thought_.’ He shoved Graham again before letting go, straightening up, tidying his robes. ‘And you don’t get to _sneer_ at my deliberations in front of the masses. You certainly do not _mock_ me for it before them.’

Graham slumped against the wall, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Remember,’ he rasped, ‘how you tried to make your Quidditch win about some _moral victory_ and the likes of Wilkes and Rosier just wanted to celebrate a sports match? There’s where most of the school is.’

‘Then I have to change their views.’

‘You already _have_ ,’ Graham spat with a sudden venom he hadn’t anticipated, bursting out of the fist in his gut. ‘You took on Aubrey; surely that’s enough?’

‘Aubrey was just a start -’

‘You _carved him up_ like a pig -’

‘And it is _no more_ than the likes of him deserve! But they respond, and so I must answer _again_ -’

‘Merlin’s _teeth_ , Randal! It’s all going on _out there_ , it’ll all be waiting for you _out there_!’ Graham snapped, waving a hand at the walls. ‘You don’t have to prove anything -’

‘Don’t be so naive!’ Randal stepped in again, but this was with a widening of his eyes, a new edge to his voice. ‘ _Don_ _’t_ , Graham. You know how it is out there - out there, Saul and Amycus can keep simpering and never thinking for themselves, and the likes of the Lestranges, Malfoy - they’ll be put at their right hands without an original thought, without a plan, without any action!’ He reached out again, this time grasping Graham’s shoulders in an urgent but less violent hold. ‘You think that you and I can walk into this war and be treated as anything but _fodder_ if we don’t take action _now_ , prove ourselves _now_?’

Graham reeled. ‘Is that what this is about? You’re using school as a proving ground -’

‘This is _all_ a proving ground. This whole _conflict_ is a proving ground. Father rose at the right hand of the Dark Lord, and then squandered it by spending years skulking at home -’

‘He was with Mother, he was _raising us_ -’

‘- and then writing foolish articles about temperance - _any_ footing we had from our name has been lost and wasted,’ Randal said bluntly. ‘And I will not let his failures hold me back, I will not let his failures see _us_ looked down on. When we are capable of so much more than the lickspittles and lapdogs of the Movement, I will _not_ let them surpass me only for their name, their connections.’ When he pushed Graham back against the wall, it was with thwarted, hurt frustration, not the same anger as before. ‘So I _need_ you supporting me, not mocking me. I’ve barely over six months left in this place. And I’m _damned_ if I’ll walk out of Hogwarts with Amycus hanging on to my every word, only for him to be allowed to give _me_ orders when we leave. And you _know_ this is how it will be if we don’t _become_ more.’

_What if I don_ _’t want to be more?_ The words howled inside Graham, bursting upwards unbidden, treacherous and searing. And yet, he knew everything his brother had said was true. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’m not you,’ he said at length, voice grating. ‘Nor can I be you. But there is one lesson you could learn from me, Randal: show less.’

‘Show -’

‘Amycus and Saul and probably Alecto see you sitting, brooding in state as a weakness, as you reeling. For the moment they’re eager to please, to appease you, to fix this. But if you don’t do something soon, they’ll try to take your legs out from under you.’

‘Saul -’

‘Is content to wait until you leave before trying to take your place, yes. But if he thinks you’re weak, you _know_ he’ll act.’ The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but Graham knew whatever he did or said on this count would be betrayal of somebody. Even silence would arm his best friend against his brother. ‘So you have to do something.’

‘As I said, if _I_ move against Evans, it validates -’

‘Then not you.’

‘But Amycus can’t do anything - besides, if he or Saul _succeed_ that’s worse -’

‘Then not _them_ ,’ Graham pressed, and this time listened to his instincts when they screamed of danger ahead, because _he_ certainly didn’t want to be the vehicle for his brother’s retaliation in this war that was, he was realising, more personal than he’d known. ‘Alecto,’ he blurted. ‘She wants to be taken seriously but she knows she can’t lead; of all your followers she’s the only one who _aspires_ to be a lieutenant. And she’s given Evans hell for years, even if it was while stood next to Emmeline.’

A small smile was creeping across Randal’s face. ‘That makes it all the better for Alecto, doesn’t it,’ he said. ‘She proves she’s taken Emmeline’s mantle. It defeats Evans, but does so without escalating - theirs is an old rivalry.’ He straightened and clapped Graham on the shoulder. ‘This is why I _need_ you, brother. I need your advice, I need someone I can trust, and you - you understand _hunger_ like they don’t.’

_Because the Mulciber brothers are, in their way, just as hungry as any Muggle-born._ ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and found himself meaning it. ‘I don’t like seeing you in a state like that. It makes you lash out, and that’s never good for anyone. Including you.’

‘I suppose,’ Randal said, and this was as good as Graham knew he’d get. ‘These are - I’d thought dealing with Aubrey would shut them _up_. I don’t _enjoy_ it.’ The worst thing was that Graham believed him. It was hard enough to think of his brother as revelling in cruelty, but the idea that he held his nose and conducted cruelty feeling he had no choice was, perhaps, less comforting. After all, that meant the old Randal - the brother he’d played with when younger, the one who’d run around the fields with Lin on his shoulders, the one who’d stood up for them both in the early days of school - was still in there somewhere. It would be so much easier if he could dismiss him, the way he dismissed the Carrows, Wilkes, Rosier.

‘I know,’ said Graham. ‘And that’s why I’m here.’

Randal didn’t linger, merely clapped him on the shoulder before going on his way, probably finally headed to classes. It left Graham alone in the stairwell, comforted with the knowledge he’d helped his brother, that he’d stopped his brooding. But there had to be a next step. The storm still gathered.

The first thunder came sooner than he expected, when he went to leave the stairwell and walked almost flat into Emmeline Vance. Her aristocratic mask cracked with a flinch at just the sight of him, enough to make his gut twist afresh. ‘Graham.’

‘Emmeline.’ He didn’t want to linger, either, but then a thought occurred and he planted himself as she went to move around. ‘How long were you there?’

Grey eyes locked on him. ‘I’m headed to my room. I’ve got class. Whatever you and Randal have to discuss -’

He’d discussed Randal’s fears, their _family_ _’s_ fears; he’d comforted his brother and guided him through the trials ahead and, worst of all, he’d advised him to set Alecto, whom he knew to possess a streak of cruelty and a hunger for proving herself on Lily Evans, a girl he owed no personal grief. The glint of judgement in Emmeline’s gaze, the dismissal in her voice, her eagerness to be _away_ from him - all were enough to turn the fist in his gut into a fist in his hand, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed her by the shoulders like Randal had grabbed him, slammed her against the wall in a similar fashion. ‘Don’t you _dare_ eavesdrop -’

She’d gasped in surprise but not hit her head, and now her hand was tight on his forearm. ‘Let me _go_ , Graham -’

‘You don’t get to do this,’ he snapped. ‘You don’t get to act like you and I are the only sane people in this _fucked up_ place, then change your course and toss me to one side, scrabble to get out and _leave me behind_ -’

‘As if you could come with me!’ Her eyes were wide with anger, rather than fear or shock. ‘As if Randal would _let_ you slip through his fingers, as if you’d leave him or your sister, as if you’d do _anything_ to disappoint them or make yourself stand out!’ Again she shoved at him, and he broke his numb hold but didn’t step back. ‘Maybe we’re the only sane people but that means nothing, _nothing_ , Graham, if you’re not going to _do_ anything about it. And you’re not; you’re not _capable_ of it, you sit on the sidelines and you watch and judge and sneer but you don’t do a damned thing. I did what I knew was right, and you could have, too - but you didn’t. So don’t you dare blame me.’

‘We were in this _together_ ,’ he rasped, leaning in with thwarted frustration - but then he saw her press herself back, not so much shrink as curl away from him. This wasn’t just defiance, but discomfort, too, and now the fury inside snarled and hissed at him that he was not Saul, that he was not _Randal_.

So he stopped. He turned away without another word, stalked down the stairwell to his dormitory. Changed into his heavy-duty robes, because it was cold outside and the work was hard, but once he made it out of the dungeons, into the grounds, the chill of the winter’s wind did its job well.

It didn’t blow away the guilt, the words ringing in his ears, the nausea in his gut or in his throat. But it could, for a time, numb them.

Or so he thought as he walked across frozen fields, as he walked under trees stripped bare by winter’s coarse caress, as he walked under skies of prophetic gloom. Right until he made it down to the stables and found Amy Hargreaves already in the tack room.

She had to have come down direct after breakfast. He had, on some level, been aware of her in the Great Hall; it was hard to feel her eyes either on him or determinedly _not_ , and hard even as he fought with Alecto, with Saul, to not glance in her direction, to not look to her sat with Fletcher and Stebbins at Ravenclaw. Tall, indifferent, poised; not with an inch of that desperation that oozed off Alecto, never curling around the world’s wants - curling _away_ from them, perhaps just as inauthentic but a reaction which made a part of him howl at the injustice instead of sneer at her weakness.

But that tall poise was intact as she turned to the doorway, her expression not shifting from its mask of control. ‘You’re not supposed to be here this morning,’ she said bluntly, and he heard the words in between: _I don_ _’t want you here_.

‘It’s my turn,’ he said, though in truth he didn’t know if it was; had he lost track as his head spun, and run to the one place at Hogwarts he wanted to be, regardless of if it wanted _him_?

‘It’s not.’ She lifted Muirne’s halter off its hook and went to walk past. ‘Take her tomorrow.’

‘Hargreaves.’ On instinct he reached out, and on instinct that remembered how angry he’d been when he seized Emmeline, all he did was brush a hand against Hargreaves’ elbow. Somehow it was enough to make her stop, paused with him at the doorway of the small, gloomy tack room. Light streamed in from the stables, spilling across his back, across her face, though for now they still stood on the shadowed side of the threshold.

‘What?’ But there was waver of hesitation in her voice, a flicker in her dark gaze upon him, even if she tried to sound sharp, dismissive.

‘We have to keep working together…’ Graham’s voice died halfway through the argument. It was what he meant, and what he meant to say - a logical argument, a plea that they stop this fighting and return to the equilibrium of the last three months. But it felt insufficient, an appeal to rationality that was not why his head spun and his veins hissed, why the shadows wrapped around him in comforting warmth but the light seared even as it beckoned him.

‘We can work like this,’ Hargreaves said shortly, though the words sounded like they’d come dredged from her throat, not so much forced as unwelcome.

‘Can we?’ She’d stopped at just the brush of his fingertips, and didn’t move as he stepped closer, the only woman he didn’t have to crane his neck to look in the eye now they were inches apart. There had been a surliness to her face, he’d thought when he first met her, but looking at her now he just saw a guarded edge held tight before the same chasm of uncertainty that had run amok inside him all morning. Now his eyes could run across her face and drink in every flicker, drag across every inch of her tall poise and see where it was forced and where it was rooted like an old oak, and see every inch of where it quavered. ‘Is this working?’

‘It was,’ she breathed, chin tilting up a half-inch, ‘until you got here.’

‘And what’s so wrong,’ murmured Graham, head dropping, feeling her breath across his cheek, feeling it mingle - feeling his own poise and control brush against hers, like shields they held hairs’ breadths from their flesh crackling against one another, ‘with this now?’

Hargreaves raised a hand and planted it slowly, deliberately against his chest. He could feel the pressure of her fingertips through his thin shirt under the heavy, open-fronted robes, feel the warmth of her touch, feel, despite all her quavering poise, the lack of hesitation, the absolute certainty as she reached out. His breath caught, head spinning even further, the heady sense of escape, of freedom, of utter surrender to the whispers of the wind he’d tried ignoring his whole life -

Then she shoved him, hard. ‘What’s wrong,’ said Hargreaves, utterly unhesitant, ‘is that I don’t indulge a racist’s bullshit. Piss off, Mulciber, _I don_ _’t want you here_.’

He rocked back, unsteady on his feet and almost crashing into the wall, but she didn’t wait to see if he fell or argued, stalking out of the tack room and into the stables and leaving him reeling, teetering, alone in the gloom.

§

‘James is _better_ now,’ Remus pointed out philosophically as he walked the line of shelves, putting books away. Some of them weren’t even his books, just tomes abandoned by other students at library tables, and Remus was a fussy enough prefect to tidy up after them. Sirius thought he was mental, but he didn’t voice this. After all, some of the books were _his_. ‘Can’t you tell?’

‘He’s not moping any more,’ Sirius accepted, hands shoved in his pockets as he loped after Remus, head down, shoulders stooped. ‘And that’s good, just…’

‘Just what?’

‘Evans is dragging him into _politics_.’

Remus stopped to climb a ladder and put away a particularly hefty volume on the gathering of nocturne mushrooms on a high shelf. ‘The world is dragging us into politics, Sirius. There’s a war going on out there. Did you even read the paper?’

‘I read the cartoons…’

‘A Muggle-born-owned shop on Diagon Alley was attacked the night before last, people nearly died, definitely Death Eaters. And this sort of thing is happening all the time.’

‘I know,’ said Sirius defensively. ‘And at school we have Mulciber and his _mob_. I know stuff’s bad.’

‘And so James is taking action. It’s about time, really.’

Sirius frowned at him as he descended the ladder. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Remus hesitated. ‘Not much,’ he said guardedly. ‘Only that I worry about you two. Worried.’

‘What, because we didn’t wave flags and defend the innocent and get involved?’

‘Not to put too fine a point on it, yes.’ Remus lifted his hands, always quick to be defensive, always quick to couch his criticisms of James and Sirius in the softest of terms; so soft Sirius could almost always brush them to one side as just _Remus being Remus_. ‘All I mean is that you can see the difference James can make. And I think it’s good that he’s, I don’t know. Meeting his potential. Helping people.’

‘And you were _judging_ us before for not doing it?’ Remus didn’t answer, and Sirius squinted at him. ‘What have _you_ been doing, then, that’s been so _great_?’

Remus looked away, down the length of bookcases to adopt a thousand-yard stare. ‘You know I can’t do much, Sirius. One foot out of line and -’

‘And nothing, and you’re _just as much_ a part of this school as anyone; if Corrigan can get away with punching Clagg in the face and nobody bats and eyelid at Lily facing down Carrow, then _you_ can act out, too, Remus, and get away with it -’

‘It’s just an _insult_ , isn’t it?’ Remus’ expression pinched. ‘Dumbledore and others have done so much for me to keep attending. If I said what I thought, did what I _really_ wanted to do, broke the rules, got into trouble -’

‘We break the rules all the time -’

‘Yes, but I don’t usually get _caught_ , and that’s just _mischief_ ,’ said Remus kindly. ‘That’s the sort of thing we’ve always done. Fighting Slytherins? Political dissidence? So much of that has an implicit criticism of the school for _not doing enough_ -’

‘They’re _not_.’

‘Yes, but I can’t tell them that! Not when they’re doing _more_ than enough for me!’

Sirius cocked his head at him. This level of frantic frustration was unusual for Remus; normally, at worst, he just seemed world-weary at the calamities around him. Not self-righteous and yet impotent. ‘This is why you’re so keen on that _Gutters_ stuff, isn’t it.’

‘I’m not that keen,’ sighed Remus. ‘I could never respect someone who doesn’t sign their name to what they have to say.’

‘You’re too _nice_ to this school, mate. Sure, they do a lot for you, but then they go and hire Drake, who still likes talking about how monstrous non-humans are _in class_ …’

That, at least, got Remus onto another indignant rant about Professor Drake, and how patently unfit he was as a teacher. Their Defence classes had not been going well the last few weeks. Their practical lessons had been perfectly adequate as they began work on silent casting, but the theory still dripped with the condescending judgement of their highly conservative teacher. Remus spent most lessons writing from the textbook instead of listening, while Sirius tuned out. James, for his part, had begun what Sirius _thought_ was a joke or trick, constantly pestering Drake - politely, always putting up his hand, always with a mask of sincerity - with innocent-seeming questions on just what the professor _meant_ with his implication-laden phrasing. While on occasion this had shamed Drake into talking around his turns of phrase, at other times it only encouraged him to be more blatantly offensive.

So it took Remus until he’d finished tidying the books before he turned back to Sirius and said, frowning, ‘Why are you even _here_? It’s lunchtime.’

‘And we ate lunch already. And James has Quidditch practice.’

‘You normally make any excuse under the sun to avoid the library for more than getting in and out with the minimum number of necessary books. So what’s -’ Remus squinted at him. ‘Are you hiding from Marlene?’

‘What? No -’

‘What do you two even _talk_ about, anyway?’ Remus frowned. ‘You have less than nothing in common, you revel in winding people up while she’s nothing but _nice_ to everyone she meets; I cannot _imagine_ you two having the most riveting conversation.’

‘If you’re chasing a girl for the _conversation_ , Moony, then I’ve got to warn you that you’re doing it wrong -’

‘Ugh.’ Remus pushed him away and rolled his eyes. ‘You realise that the longer this goes on, the harder it’ll be?’

‘The harder _what_ will be?’

‘Breaking up with her.’

Sirius hesitated. It wasn’t that he _wanted_ to break up with Marlene. Sure, he didn’t really care when she talked about whatever she’d been reading, and that took a lot of not-caring effort when she talked a mile a minute. And she was still, despite spending more time with her brother’s friends, incredibly needy in a way which Mary had never been, and certainly didn’t suit Sirius when he had things to do with his friends, which happened most of the time. And she could be non-argumentative to a fault, folding whenever he disagreed with her and he still came out of it feeling like a bully who’d just kicked a puppy. But all of these things notwithstanding, she was _still_ pretty cute.

‘If I do that,’ he said, ‘then everyone’s going to be all, “Oh, Sirius, what an arsehole, he broke this poor innocent girl’s heart.” Sometimes relationships don’t work out! Sometimes I could break up with a girl and _not_ be the bad guy! But if I did _anything_ to Marlene, everyone would assume I was _scum_ who -’

‘Led her on, and then was too cowardly to end the relationship when it turned out to be more than what he wanted?’

‘Yes!’ Sirius paused, and glared. ‘Hey… look, she’s just _needy_. She even wants me to visit her during Christmas break.’

‘How horrendous.’

‘We’ll be apart _two weeks_ , Moony, she won’t _die_ and this way I get my space.’ But Remus was still looking at him like _that_ , and Sirius huffed. ‘And _also_ , I do have a reason to be here, for myself. I need some textbooks for Transfig. Only _you_ got me distracted.’

‘You found me stacking shelves,’ said Remus, ‘and started keening, “Moony, I’m _bored_ ,” until I let you tag along.’

‘Which, frankly, you should have known better than to let me do,’ proclaimed Sirius, and turned for the Transfiguration section with his nose in the air.

His haughty demeanour and moral high ground was immediately shattered when he rounded the corner, out of sight of the bemused Remus, and walked right into one of Fletch’s black market deals.

She was handing a paper bag of _something_ over to Doug Finchley, who hissed, ‘ _Oi, Black, give us a moment_!’

Sirius lifted his hands and ducked back around the corner, but he heard Fletch’s exasperated sigh. ‘That was real discreet, Finchley. He’ll never suspect _anything_.’

‘I don’t - it were -’

‘Four sickles.’ There was the rustling of pockets and the clinking of coins, and then Doug Finchley came around the corner and didn’t meet Sirius’ gaze as he left.

Sirius turned the stacks again, hands shoved in his pockets. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he said, and found he meant it.

Fletch brushed back a lock of brown hair as she counted the coins in her hands. She didn’t quite look up. ‘Occupational hazard of doing business in the library. It’s fine.’

‘Believe it or not, I’m not trying to make life difficult for -’ He stopped as he realised she hadn’t gone on the offensive. ‘Oh. Well. Yeah.’ He frowned at a spot above her head, and only then did he realise he’d rather missed this, the illicit adventures with Fletch which had nothing to do with the others; which were just _his_ , and with someone who never gave him disapproving looks like Remus or even, now, James did. ‘How’d you do out of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, anyway?’

‘Pretty well,’ she told his boot. ‘Everyone likes betting on Hufflepuff because Janvier’s, like, _brilliant_ , and the Banes are good and well-liked, but their Chasers are naff and Nutcombe just isn’t a good enough Seeker. So that worked out alright.’

‘Good,’ he said with a needless bob of the head. ‘And, like. Ravenclaw. They’re alright since…’

‘…since?’

‘Aubrey. Bertram. That.’

When he looked up, she’d looked away, arms wrapped around her gut. ‘He was messed up pretty bad. Even the band cared. Even _Baddock_ cared. They’re not - it’s different when it’s -’

Sirius’ eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. ‘Are _you_ alright?’

Fletch’s gaze snapped back, and for the first time he saw a quaver in the indifference. ‘Didn’t happen to me, did it.’

‘Well, no, but I’m told we should care about things more than an inch from our noses.’ He tried to not sound bitter.

‘Sounds like a great way to lose a nose.’ She drew a sharp breath. ‘I’m sorry for accusing you the other week. Saying you’d tattle to McKinnon. That was shitty of me. And you’re one of the only people who doesn’t look at me like I’m shit.’

A knot he hadn’t known had tied within him, loosened. ‘Could say the same to you. And, like. Sorry if you think I don’t take your problems seriously.’

‘It’s okay. Yeah.’

‘Yeah.’ He beamed, but she didn’t, face still ashen, and he frowned. ‘What’s…’

‘I saw him.’ Fletch looked away, gnawing on her lower lip. ‘Aubrey. And Mulciber. When it happened. I was there. Saw it. Did nothing. Ran.’ She said all of this very quickly, as if condemnation might blink and miss it.

‘What,’ said Sirius, ‘the whole attack?’

‘ _Enough_ , and I saw Mulciber, I saw the mob, I saw Aubrey, I bloody ran away -’

‘As opposed to, what, jumping up and getting had _too_?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I guess. Running sounded like the smart thing at the time. Sounds like the smart thing now. Thought it was, and then Evans went and -’

‘Oh, _sod_ Evans,’ burst Sirius. ‘She did something stupid and she got lucky and you bet Carrow or Mulciber is going to do something _back_.’

Fletch lifted a hand to her temples. ‘I know. I _know_.’ She waved that hand dismissively. ‘Whatever. It was shit. But it’s happened. And I still have some people to see before lunch is over, so…’

‘Yeah. I’ll see you around, Fletch.’

She was still frowning when she said, ‘You will,’ but then she stopped on her way past to pat him on the arm. ‘Look, thanks for - a lot of people would have yelled at me -’

‘I’m not a lot of people,’ said Sirius Black with a lopsided smirk. ‘And you’re not one of the bad ones. Just maybe the only sane one in the asylum.’ She left with a soundless laugh that still echoed in his ears as he gave her a few minutes’ head-start before he, too, made for the exit.

The library wasn’t the best place to go to hide from Marlene McKinnon, but he’d known she was having lunch then heading to an impromptu Charms Club meeting. So he’d thought himself safe, right until he got to the door and almost walked flat into her and the stack of books in her arms.

‘Oh, _Sirius_!’ It was more loud sigh of frustration than exclamation of being actually pleased to see him, and they scrabbled together to steady the books and her. ‘There you are, I was wondering if McGonagall had set you the same Transfiguration essay…’

‘Lunch is almost over, Marls, I’ve got to go to -’

‘I just need to drop off these books,’ she said, big blue eyes turning on him. ‘But I really need to work on that essay tonight and if she’s set the same one we could come back here and get some research notes…’

And Sirius cursed, not for the first time, his own ineptitude when it came to saying ‘no,’ to a pretty girl. Even a pretty girl who spoke a mile a minute, words rushing in one ear and out the other and babbled even more out of nerves when she feared she was losing his interest, and who he tried, tried, _tried_ to listen to, because life would be so much easier if he could.

So of course, in the end, he was stuck in the library all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, plenty to say. Not so much about this chapter, but the story in general. First, I apologise for going silent for a few months. It’s been a rough time - studies, personal life issues - but I think that’s winding down. In the new year I have a lighter schedule, and a better organised one (more stuff all on one day, so I don’t waste time travelling to and fro). I have been itching to have a creative output all this time, and Not Fade Away has continued to simmer in the backdrop of my mind. I must confess, I genuinely considered dropping it - dropping fanfic - and came close a few times, but as I’ve spun round and round, I have concluded that there’s still more story to tell here.
> 
> Thus I had to look at what was making it difficult to write, aside from my lifestyle. Simply put, NFA is a huge goddamn project. It was always meant to be ambitious, but somewhere down the line it crossed over from ‘ambitious’ to ‘bloated’. I concluded that, ultimately, something had to go. Fat had to be trimmed. I considered a lot of things - I considered cutting it right down to being just a story about Lily, but every time I did that, I realised I’d lose something later on as the planned storylines fed into one another. Dropping Graham loses the depth to things which affect Lily later; dropping Fletch loses impact on Sirius and loses a view on Hargreaves, which impacts Graham; dropping Sirius loses a view on James (Jack was never at risk of being dropped). You can see where this is going: I’m cutting, and have cut, Alice’s POV from the story. I’ll no doubt go into this in more detail on my Tumblr (my handle there’s itsslide), but her POVs weren’t working out as I’d wanted them to, I wasn’t quite as excited about them as I had been in the planning, they’re the easiest to drop, and it allows NFA to focus on being about these young people growing up and being thrust into war, instead of broadening to the perspectives of veteran Aurors in their late 20s. It was very telling that the one future plot of Alice’s I refused to drop, I could give to a different character.
> 
> Alice and Frank of course exist in NFA, and at present I have no plans for them to be especially different characters to what we’ve seen so far - though they will now likely be relegated to much later appearances, along with canon figures like the Prewett brothers. Benjy Fenwick as an interpretation was imagined almost entirely for the benefit of Alice’s story, and so when he has his reintroduction may be, basically, a completely different character. I also reserve the right, if the story demands it, to write both Frank and Alice as very different. Basically, going forward, disregard everything you’ve read on them. It’s been thrown out the window, not just off-screen. But we’ll see how it goes.
> 
> I feel a whole lot better about NFA now; I feel like it’s going to be easier to push forward and I’m coming up in the writing to a storyline which has existed in my head since before NFA was ever a project (it’s a tale I’ve repurposed for this fic, and it’s one I’m keen for). Xmas period will, of course, keep things slowish on the update - I’d like to stick to the fortnight updates, but don’t hold your breaths for a Boxing Day chapter - or maybe I’ll treat you all. But in the new year I would like to return to the publishing rate of old, and hopefully NFA will be a much smoother project, consisting much less of characters people don’t care for as much.
> 
> So, bringing this blathering A/N to an end, thank you so much for those of you who are still with me. Oh, and if you’ve been reading/re-reading the last five or six chapters where I had to majorly edit things to remove Alice’s chapters, if content is blazingly missing or weirdly formatted or repeated, please let me know. It was a pigfuck to get these bloody things realigned.


	25. A Devil Put Aside

**A Devil Put Aside**

  
_So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?_  
 _So you think you can love me and leave me to die?_  
 _-_ _‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ Queen (1975)_

 

‘ _This way_ ,’ Dory hissed, grabbing Lily by the elbow so they could duck down a side corridor and dodge the worst of traffic between classes.

‘What, huh -’

‘Mistletoe. Mistletoe _everywhere_. It’s like a trap of slobbery mouths of slobbery boys.’

Lily wrinkled her nose as they took this most inefficient of routes to Charms. ‘You could just say _no_ , Dory, it’s not like it’s there’s an Unbreakable on it.’

‘Yeah, but then they look like kicked puppies, and I just don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. And you don’t need Wick sad because other boys accosted you under mistletoe.’

‘I don’t,’ Lily agreed, ‘but then I also say _no_ , and anyway people aren’t lining up to randomly snog me just because it’s Christmas.’

‘I dunno,’ said Dory darkly, turning sharp corners. ‘After the stunt with Carrow, the school seems set to either murder you or canonise you.’

Lily didn’t argue with that; all the cheer of the festive season had done nothing to diffuse the simmering undercurrent of anger running now through all echelons of the school. Pure-bloods were furious at the Muggle-borns for fighting back, Muggle-borns were furious at the Slytherins for Aubrey, and everyone was furious at the school for doing _nothing_. McGonagall had upped the prefect patrols, upped the _staff_ patrols, made declarations in the Great Hall for those having trouble to come to a teacher, and of course nobody had budged. Abernathy and his ilk on the staff still turned a blind eye to pettiness in the corridor. Most students still feared Mulciber and his mob too much to speak up. All the respect in the world for the Deputy Headmistress couldn’t change the simple fact that she was only one authority figure in a sea of apathy and incompetence, presiding over a staff who either refused to back her or couldn’t do enough.

‘Maybe you should make mistletoe work for you,’ she said, instead of dwelling on that point. ‘You know, there’s lots in the common room; get some near the dormitory stairs -’

‘Oh, _yes_ , that’ll be discreet if there’s mistletoe on the stairs to the dormitories _only girls can climb_ ,’ Dory sneered. ‘Might as well start covering myself in rainbow tie-dye right now. Or declare my undying affection for Mary and then hurl myself bodily into the lake.’

‘Better than all of this sad mooning.’

‘It is not sad mooning, it is _gentle pining_ , and I have it perfectly under control.’

‘Do you want me to try to talk to Mary, take her temperature, that kind of thing -’

‘What, her _gay temperature_?’

‘I don’t know!’

Dory threw her hands in the air. ‘I have a plan. It’s a good plan. I’m going to go home over Christmas. I’m going to get really drunk. And I’m going to get over her.’

Lily sighed. ‘If you say so.’

The argument was cut short by their return to the main hum of traffic of students hurrying to class, with Charms and all of its complexities, or what Dory would call dullness, not far away and enough to distract Lily from the debate. Until an even better distraction came along as they spotted, heading the other way, Alecto Carrow and her twin shadows of Yaxley and Barkwith. Lily felt Alecto’s eyes fall on her, a venomous glare it was had to not return with a defiant stare.

Dory proved to have a better idea, starting to hum and then bursting into song with, ‘ _I see a little silhouette of a man_!’ exactly as the three Slytherins passed. So Lily had to join in. It was the rules, really, to sing along to Queen, and that it would not just anger but _confuse_ someone like Alecto was even better. And then the trio were gone, and Lily and Dory still had a way to go to Charms, and once they’d _started_ singing Bohemian Rhapsody they couldn’t exactly stop, so they got to class with Dory bouncing along with enthusiastic air guitar as Lily belted out, ‘ _Can_ _’t do this to me, baby_!’ and received the most bewildered looks Flitwick had ever given them.

‘If you could, ah, settle _down_ , Miss Evans, Miss Meadowes…’

It was a bright way to start Charms, but in hindsight Lily would realise she shouldn’t have expected to get away with such a blatant and loud insult of Alecto Carrow in the middle of the corridor - and by now, any Muggle singing was taken as an act of defiance.

Flitwick called for them both to wait behind once he dismissed class for lunch, and they exchanged tired looks as they went to the front to find the little Charms teacher wringing his hands together. ‘I certainly have no objections to high spirits,’ he stammered. ‘But a little more decorum coming into class might be appropriate -’

‘Oh,’ said Lily, unapologetic. ‘You mean you’d be happier if we were singing Taliesin or another magical band.’ Flitwick could only sputter indignantly at that implication and insist _no_ , that _wasn_ _’t_ what he meant, but he dismissed them quickly.

They emerged in the corridor to find Marlene lingering, and Lily had to give her an apologetic smile. ‘Black’s already gone. He and Potter made off like rockets the moment Flitwick dismissed us.’

‘Oh,’ sighed Marlene. ‘I thought we were going to meet - I must have been unclear.’

A part of Lily thought Marlene was making trouble for herself, but the girl was so well-meaning she had to feel sorry. She slipped in beside her and took her arm. ‘Come have lunch with us, then, if the boy’s run off to do things.’

‘Aren’t you - I don’t want to intrude.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Lily insisted, and silently added, _We_ _’ll keep Jack on a leash_.

They found Jack halfway to the Great Hall, and while he gave Marlene a level look when he realised she was joining them, he didn’t comment. Dory was quick to bounce over to him, quick as ever to divert. ‘Flitwick hates Red’s singing.’

Jack looked again at Marlene, then clicked his tongue and focused on Dory, normal Jack again. ‘That just means Flitwick’s got taste.’

‘ _Hey_! I might not be due an invite to Burke’s band, but don’t act like dogs start howling the moment I sing -’

Which was when they rounded the corner to one of the wider corridors, usually a crowded passageway this time of day, only to find hardly any students there and their way blocked by Alecto Carrow, Rosalind Yaxley, and Clara Barkwith.

Lily took one look at them, one look at the wands already drawn, and let her own slip from her sleeve into her hand. It was becoming a more practiced, comfortable motion by now, and she glanced at the other three. ‘Jack?’ she murmured. ‘How about you and Marlene watch our backs?’ Dory muttered an oath, but her wand was also drawn when she fell into step beside Lily, and as they approached, Alecto gave a short giggle.

‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Evans?’

Lily snorted. ‘Smarter than you, Carrow. Next question?’

Alecto Carrow glared. ‘You’re not. You thought you’d get away with it, embarrassing my brother, trying to embarrass me?’

Dory shrugged. ‘Didn’t know you were so delicate our singing embarrasses you. I mean, know Red isn’t very good...’

‘Also, your brother embarrasses _himself_ ; he doesn’t need my help,’ said Lily. ‘Are we done, or are you going to keep playing twenty questions?’ She glanced up and down the corridor. Alecto must have thrown her weight around to get most people to clear off, but it was impossible for this part of school to be abandoned at this time of day. Behind Carrow students still lingered, watching from afar with big eyes, spectating but not getting involved and, Lily suspected, providing a buffer so teachers didn’t see what was going on and would struggle to intervene. A look over her shoulder showed Randal Mulciber and his mob watching from a distance, and her throat tightened. Jack was still eyeballing them and they weren’t coming any closer, but that could change at any moment.

‘I’m not done,’ Alecto Carrow was saying. ‘ _You_ _’re_ done, Evans. You don’t get to strut around, little Mudblood like you, like you own this place.’

Lily and Dory exchanged a glance. The Slytherins had them outnumbered, but this was a more public challenge than any issued so far, and with a sinking realisation, Lily knew why Carrow was goading instead of acting. It was much easier for the Slytherins to get away with this if they didn’t open fire first. Lily watched as Dory reached the same conclusion, eyebrows rising with an unspoken question, and Lily could only answer with the smallest, nervous grin.

Dory rounded on Alecto. ‘Oh, lay off, Carrow, just because Graham Mulciber’s gone and ditched you like last week’s leftovers, smelling about as good -’

Which was when the spells started flying. Because Alecto Carrow had never been one of nature’s most patient creatures, and Dorcas Meadowes always knew how to go for the jugular. Lily had been ready with a Shield to deflect Carrow’s angry assault, and then Dory was throwing spells back too - nothing so practical as Stuns and curses for a quick take-down, but tickling charms and babbling hexes and anything which, if it hit its target, would make them look really, really _silly_.

The corridor erupted into cheers and jeers and sounds of panic. Behind her she could hear Jack shouting, but she couldn’t make out the words and it didn’t _sound_ like he was fighting, too. But there was no time to worry about the outside world - just the fight here and now. It was still three on two, and Lily could only defend so much as Dory hurled spells at Carrow, Barkwith and Yaxley.

Then there was another burst of magic from her left, and a shrill, anxious voice exclaiming, ‘Three on two’s not fair!’ and the slow but artfully perfect Stun from Marlene McKinnon sailed across the corridor. It hit Yaxley on the shoulder, enough to knock her down and force Barkwith to try to protect them both long enough to cast the counter-curse. Marlene kept coming, Dory now at her side, so that left Lily free to focus on Alecto.

‘They’ll call this the cat fight of the year, you know, Carrow,’ Lily said, ducking as Alecto threw a high hex. ‘Just girls and their in-fighting.’

Alecto made a furious noise and her next spell didn’t miss. Lily staggered back as she only Shielded most of the impact, the rest smacking her in the face. She tasted blood, felt it stream from her nose, her vision swimming. The frantic fight between the untrained other four continued next to them, colours of spells and witches blurring in together, the shouting all around her a kaleidoscope of sound, fury, fear. Dory had a cut across her cheek, Barkwith favoured her left arm, Marlene’s blonde hair had turned loose into a wild nest, and Yaxley’s robes were ripped, but details beyond that roiled together as Lily staggered.

So she had to throw herself bodily to the floor to dodge Alecto’s next hex. The impact jolted her senses back, and she rolled up to one knee, hurling a blast at Carrow which forced the other witch back. Behind her she could hear Jack shouting, ‘ _Don_ _’t even think of joining in, Sunshine!’_ and the quickest glance behind her showed him blocking off Mulciber and the rest, poised in a stand-off, either side waiting for the other to start throwing spells so the brawl could expand.

_Mulciber doesn_ _’t_ want _to get involved_ , Lily realised with a jolt. _Way safer to send Alecto and_ watch.

She rose to her feet with her Shield spell at the tip of her thoughts, and advanced on Alecto. ‘At _best_ , Carrow, if anyone takes this seriously, they won’t cheer you. They’ll say you’re just doing Mulciber’s bidding - the bidding of both of them, really, which is a bit pathetic for you to still be doing their dirty work, your brother’s dirty work, not even picking your _own_ fights in your _own_ right -’

Her plan had been simple: either enrage Alecto into making mistakes, or shame her so badly she’d break up the fight once she could and slink off. But this had to be a raw nerve, for it did indeed anger, and only by a moral judgement could the reaction be judged a mistake.

With a shriek of fury Alecto surged forward, wand whipping up, and Lily didn’t even recognise the words she uttered. She _did_ feel the impact on her Shield, and mercifully she’d been ready for some sort of retaliation. The blow rippled across her barriers, draining and tiring and _sickening_ , and though it was the first truly dark hex she’d been hit with, something in her bones identified it. And then the fight was more than politics. More than insults. More than a petty rivalry which went back to their earliest days at this school, and her blood started pumping and her heart started thumping at an altogether different tempo, for this had become life and death.

Whatever lessons Potter had given her came blazing back, all the bits and pieces he’d told her which weren’t about technical expertise but _raw_ casting: keep your footwork quick, let the spell flow through the whole body, don’t be afraid to dodge, all the bits and pieces professors never bothered to tell because for those who grew up living and breathing magic, they came as second nature. But Alecto was furious now, carrying on with her onslaught, and it was all Lily could do to keep her Shield spells up and protect herself.

Although Barkwith and Yaxley weren’t throwing out dark magic, the shock to Dory and Marlene had put them on the back foot; Dory had gone down with a well-timed Leg-Locker Curse and Marlene was stood over her, desperately trying to parry back spells, only it’d just take one more to break her defences, one more to break Lily’s -

‘ _Enough_!’

For one moment, Lily thought a teacher had got here. That McGonagall had finally shoved her way through the crowd to put an end to it. But it wasn’t a Scottish voice, it was much younger, and the figure who appeared next to Lily, wand blazing, was another pupil. It wasn’t that Lily didn’t recognise her right away; it was that it took Lily a long, shocked second to realise what she was seeing.

Then Emmeline Vance blasted Alecto Carrow in the gut with a Stun.

Carrow had blocked enough to not be incapacitated, but still went down on her knees. That, along with the shock of Vance’s interruption, had Barkwith and Yaxley hurry back to each other, both wide-eyed and wild-haired and looking very much like this had got out of hand for them, too.

Vance remained serene and impeccable as she stepped forward, casting Lily a sidelong glance. ‘Still in one piece, Evans?’ she asked, though Lily could only double over and nod, catching her breath, and Vance advanced on Carrow, wand level. ‘No more. You hear me, Alecto? You - blast it, all I want is to yell at you to pick your _own_ fights, your _own_ causes, because you were always _my_ follower and now you’re Randal’s.’ Vance scowled. ‘I’d say you’re better than that, but I don’t think you are. None of you are. And I’m quite done keeping my head down and my mouth shut.’

Barkwith and Yaxley scurried back to Carrow’s side, while she was still getting her breath back. When she did lift her head, green eyes blazing behind the veil of dark hair, her fury hit Lily almost as hard as her hexes. ‘You’re going to regret this, Emmeline, you hear me?’

Vance’s jaw tightened, and she glanced over at Lily. ‘Probably.’

But Rosalind Yaxley put a hand on Carrow’s shoulder, voice low. ‘Come _on_ , Alecto, the professors will be here soon, they’re not worth it…’

‘Yeah!’ came a voice behind Lily, and she looked back to see Jack, still alone in his stand-off against Mulciber and the rest as if preserving the sanctity of this throw-down. ‘Slither off, you bastards!’

That helped break the moment, made Alecto Carrow and her hangers-on, and Randal Mulciber and _his_ hangers-on, slink off with, Lily hoped, tails between their legs. She limped over to Dory, for whom Marlene was already casting the counter-curse. ‘You two alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Marlene in a squeaky voice.

‘Mmrfl- fuck!’ Dory burst upright as soon as she was released from the hex, then spotted Emmeline Vance. ‘Oh, shit, somebody find a house to drop on her.’

‘You don’t need a house; if _you_ landed on me, Meadowes, pretty sure that’d kill me.’

Lily lifted her hands. ‘Bloody hell! Dory, calm down; Vance - I can’t believe I’m saying this - saved my arse back there.’ She turned to the Slytherin frowning. ‘So, um. Thanks? Why?’

Vance flipped dark hair over her shoulder. ‘I would have thought it obvious, even to you, Evans. It was the right bloody thing to do. And I’ve lived with Alecto long enough to know how to beat her defences.’ Then her haughty demeanour faded. ‘I also suspected something like this was coming. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.’

Lily’s jaw dropped. ‘They’re going to _crucify_ you back in the common room -’

‘ _No one likes us, no one likes us, no one likes us, we don_ _’t care_!’ Jack bodily slammed into her, laughing even as he sang, and threw an arm around her. ‘That was _bloody brilliant_!’

She rocked at the impact, but had to laugh. ‘Thanks for having our backs.’

‘Well, had to, didn’t I! Didn’t think they’d get stuck in, but didn’t trust the bastards to not throw a sneaky hex…’

Marlene wrung her hands together. ‘Oh, no, we’re going to be in _so much trouble_ -’

‘They started it,’ said Dory.

Vance scoffed. ‘As if the teachers will care.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Lily raised her voice a little. Most people had hurried off about their business once the fight had broken up, eager to not be at ground zero when the teachers inevitably showed up, out of the blame blast radius. ‘What matters is Carrow had a go, the first _real_ public go at us, the first real retaliation for humiliating Amycus and the others, and we bloody stopped her. Worse for her, _Vance_ helped stop her. Still, thanks. All of you. She came for me, and you didn’t have to stay.’

‘Shut up, Red, of course we did.’ Dory staggered to the nearest steps. ‘But I need to sit down.’

‘Me too,’ squeaked Marlene. ‘I think I might be ill…’

‘You did fine,’ Lily told her, but also flopped onto the steps. To her surprise, Vance joined them.

Jack strutted up, beaming, and reached into his robes to pull out the packet of Silk Cut, the sellotaped seal already broken. ‘Seeing as the trouble can’t get worse,’ he said, ‘celebration fag?’ To Lily’s surprise, even Marlene and Vance accepted, though Vance looked a little like it was beneath her and Marlene coughed through the whole thing once Jack lit hers with his wand.

So it was typical, really, that the teachers hadn’t shown up through the prelude of the fight, or the fight itself - through hexes or dark magic or even the immediate aftermath. They were only found two minutes later by Abernathy, of all people, while they sat obstructing the stairs and smoking cigarettes.

He ranted and raved at how improper this was, at how unacceptable it was, while Jack glared at him insolently and Dory smirked and Marlene looked even more like she might be sick. Vance was indifferent, as was Lily, waiting only until there was a pause in Abernathy’s ranting to look up at him, blow a smoke ring, and say, ‘Sir, let’s cut out the middle man and skip to the end. Take us to Professor McGonagall.’

§

Butter wouldn’t melt in Rosalind Yaxley’s mouth as she said, ‘But they attacked us first, Professor. Lots of people are saying so.’

Lily rolled her eyes until she felt Professor McGonagall’s glare fall on her. She coughed and tried to sober. ‘And lots of people are saying Carrow started it. Me included.’

‘Then I suppose,’ said Yaxley sweetly, ‘it’s our word against yours.’

It was smart of Carrow, Lily had to accept, to let Yaxley do the talking. Alecto Carrow was a ball of impotent fury these days, known to associate heavily with the Mulcibers and her brother. Rosalind Yaxley rarely got into trouble, usually stood on the sidelines, and had an appearance of such pleasant innocence that her proclamations were easier to swallow.

Though the expression on Minerva McGonagall’s face implied she was having none of it. From any of them. She made a steeple of her fingers as she leaned across her desk, glaring over her glasses. ‘Brawling in the corridors. Reports of heinous language used, of _dark magic_ being cast -’

‘I never did,’ grunted Carrow, but wilted under McGonagall’s fresh glare.

‘Of injury done to one another, of which I can _see_ the evidence,’ the Deputy Headmistress continued in an arch voice. ‘And, as Professor Abernathy will not let me forget, of _smoking_ on school grounds afterwards.’

‘I’m glad the Professor’s focusing on what matters,’ Lily snapped before she could stop herself, ‘because _smoking_ _’s_ more important than a hate attack from Carrow -’

‘Never did,’ grunted Carrow again.

‘ _Enough_!’ McGonagall’s hands snapped up. ‘It is _quite clear_ that with all of the different stories going around, I cannot safely judge who opened what hostilities. I can judge that you have all acted abominably. I shall be writing to each of your homes and, when the Christmas holidays are over, you can all expect hefty detentions. And I do not want to hear of anything like this happening again. Have I made myself clear?’

It wasn’t that none of them wanted to obey Professor McGonagall. They just all knew it was beyond the power of _any_ of them to stop this from happening again, so the nods and mumbles of assent were empty, and everyone knew it. Including McGonagall. She gave an irritable sigh and leaned back in her chair. ‘Then you may all go. Not you, Miss Evans.’

Lily had been rising, and froze. She exchanged a startled look with Dory, who shrugged on her way out, and settled down with a reluctant sigh. ‘If you’re angry about me being involved because I’m a _prefect_ , Professor -’

McGonagall’s expression flattened. ‘So is Miss Vance, Evans. Of all my complaints, prefects being involved is rather low on the list.’

‘ _Complaints_? This is b- this is _rubbish_ , and you know it, Professor! You _know_ Carrow started this, singled us out for what happened with her brother! And you know I wouldn’t make up that she threw a _dark magic_ hex at me!’ Already she was on her feet, hands waving furiously.

‘And _yet_ ,’ said McGonagall tersely, ‘for everyone who claims that, I have witnesses claiming quite the opposite - that this was from your old rivalry, that you began the fight, and that there was no dark magic cast.’

‘Claims from _Slytherins_!’ Lily snapped.

‘And the claims in defence of _you_ four, Evans, are from Gryffindors, from your friends. And a _truly astonishing_ number of students who were most certainly present claim they did not _see_ who cast first, claim they cannot be _sure_ if any dark magic was cast.’ McGonagall’s voice went flat. ‘I could not punish Carrow, Yaxley and Barkwith more than yourselves based on such hearsay.’

‘So that’s it.’ Lily stuck her hands on her hips. ‘You can’t act without getting angry parents saying you’re playing favourites, so you smack us all on the wrist the same.’

‘Not quite. I am choosing to overlook the issue of _smoking_ \- and really, Lily, you’re not helping yourself with such minor infractions, they make it _harder_ for me to take your side -’

‘You’ve not taken my side at all!’ A year ago, if someone had told Lily she’d be interrupting a teacher - interrupting _McGonagall_ \- she’d have laughed and called them mad. ‘Bertram Aubrey’s mutilated and you do _nothing_! _I_ have to step in and save Kendricks! Alecto Carrow _comes for me in retaliation_ and all you can do is punish us the same? What do you _think_ is going to happen to Emmeline Vance for daring to help me - they are going to f- to bloody well _crucify_ her in the dungeons for that!’ And now she was yelling, stabbing a furious finger back at the door.

‘Professor Slughorn is under strict instructions to keep an eye on Miss Vance -’

‘Yeah, because he’s been doing a _bang up job_ so far with keeping Slytherin House under control!’

McGonagall’s lips set in a thin, angry line. ‘I need you to work with me, Lily.’

‘I would, Professor, I really would, but you’re not working _to_ do anything!’

‘I am trying -’

The word _trying_ was, somehow, more infuriating. ‘Professor Dumbledore’s _who knows where_ as this school is tearing itself apart and I _know_ you don’t have enough support from the staff! Abernathy’s a small-minded _bastard_ who sticks his head in the sand and picks on small problems because then he can get off on his authority complex! _Drake_ is a borderline bloody Death Eater himself, and I can only assume he was recruited at Abernathy’s recommendation because we are _literally running out_ of candidates to hire. Flitwick can’t _control_ people well enough, Sprout doesn’t have the authority, Slughorn has to walk through the Slytherins like a minefield, and Professor Dearborn’s new and not enough people are going to listen to the _Muggle Studies_ teacher! _Trying_ has stopped being good enough, Professor! The war has _reached_ this school, and I am doing what I can to stop it from tearing _my people_ apart.’ Lily stopped, realising her chest was heaving, that her fury was rattling inside her the speed of the Hogwarts Express, and she made herself draw a slow, calming breath. ‘I want to work with you, Professor. You _know_ I respect you, you know I’d love _nothing more_ than for teachers to be able to fix this. But you can’t, can you? The people attacking me are the ones with influential families who will be on you in a _second_ if they can catch you out on something political. And so long as your staff aren’t backing you, you can’t protect yourself, so you can’t protect us.’

Lily had never thought of McGonagall as old. She wasn’t young, but without grey in her black hair, without wrinkles sunk into her face, she had settled in Lily’s mind into the abstract category of _adult_. But as fury stopped spinning through her mind and fizzing in her veins and she watched the Deputy Headmistress, watched her face sink, it was like seeing an ageing potion in action. Worse - worse enough to dump a cold rock in Lily’s gut, a true, existential fear buzzing under the more rabbit-like _survive_ instinct that had been hissing away for weeks - was the sheer sense of _defeat_ she could see settle in McGonagall’s eyes.

When she did speak, it was in a low, taut voice. ‘I am not oblivious to the provocation you have suffered, Miss Evans. Which is why I am going to overlook this _extreme_ lack of decorum and respect for the staff of this school you have just shown. I had asked you to stay behind so we might discuss the issues underlying today’s confrontation, so I might offer what assistance I _could_ to the situation. I see now that there is little I can do, is there?’ The words were not snide, but defeated and came with a grimace.

The old instinct to please told Lily to apologise. The knowledge Carrow would walk away from picking a fight and throwing around dark magic with no more punishment than those trying to defend themselves held her tongue. ‘I think, Professor, you need to look to your own house first before helping mine.’

That _did_ bring a flash of indignation from McGonagall and regret from Lily, and McGonagall lifted her hands. ‘I think we’re done here, Miss Evans.’

_I want you to help_. The words echoed in Lily’s head as she turned for the door, unspoken, impossible to speak. She didn’t _blame_ McGonagall; she blamed Abernathy and she blamed Drake. If anything, she blamed _Dumbledore_ , mysteriously gone at the school’s darkest hour. And Dumbledore was nothing to her, a distant headmaster, someone who made speeches at the beginning of the year and acted the senile coot. It was McGonagall who had made her a prefect and backed up her authority even against purebloods; McGonagall who tolerated no slurs in her hearing, who had fought on the ground in every way she could. McGonagall who had brought the world of magic to Lily when she was eleven, confirmed all Severus had to say and dispelled those last, creeping fears that it was all somehow just in their heads. McGonagall who had helped Lily as much as she could when her mother was sick, helping with the letters, making sure they got sent on.

Defying her successfully brought no satisfaction, only a fresh sense of defeat. So Lily couldn’t brighten when she opened the door for Wick to burst inside, waving papers and his hands, wild-haired and wild-eyed.

‘Professor! It is _beyond unacceptable_ for Lily to be punished worse than anyone else for this fight!’ Without waiting for a reply, he pulled out two documents from his stack and slammed them on McGonagall’s desk. ‘Aside from any _failings_ from the student body to properly report injustice and _brutality_ when they see it - or, rather, _because_ of these failings, I know it’s impossible for you to prove any greater wrong-doing from _anyone_ , Carrow included -’

‘Wick.’ Lily tried in a low voice. McGonagall stared at him with a flat, level expression.

‘So to punish Lily in particular would be a _serious_ mistake, seeing as she is the _only Muggle-born_ who was involved in this fracas and so to do so without particular evidence would be in _direct violation_ of the Muggle Rights Act of 1938 -’

‘ _Wes_!’ That broke through, and Wick stopped short, blinking owlishly at her. Lily lifted her hands. ‘I’m not being punished. Any extra.’

He looked between them and wilted. ‘Oh.’

McGonagall glared. ‘ _Yes_ , Wick. _Oh_. But the accusation is noted, as is your legal diligence.’

‘I, um.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I had a whole thing about having Nate’s lawyer prepped for - I thought -’

‘You were wrong,’ said McGonagall. ‘And Evans was just leaving.’

‘I was waiting -’ Wick jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then wilted, and nodded. ‘Um, yes. Sorry, Professor.’

Lily half-dragged him out into the corridor, only to see he wasn’t the only one waiting; Dory, and Jack and, to her surprise, Potter stood further down the corridor. She ignored them for the moment and turned to Wick, giving her first smile since this catastrophe. ‘ _Thank_ you,’ she said quietly, sincerely. ‘I didn’t need the backup, but thank you.’

‘I thought - I worried that she’d…’ He sighed, obviously having worked himself up for a fight. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Mindful that they were not alone, she kept her kiss quick, chaste. ‘And thank Nate for helping, too.’

‘He didn’t have much of a choice,’ Wick admitted bashfully. ‘I rather ranted at him until he agreed he could get a letter sent, and considering Marlene was involved it wasn’t _entirely_ against his own interests - but, you’re alright?’

Concern gleamed in his eyes, confusing her for a moment until she realised the rumour mill must have exploded with Carrow’s dark magic. ‘I am. Thanks to, of all bloody people, Emmeline Vance.’ She wasn’t sure what to feel about that, so decided to leave it as a problem for later.

‘I thought the reports had gone quite mad when I heard she’d -’

McGonagall emerged from her office, shutting the door behind her. ‘When I said we were done, Evans, I thought you’d be heading to class as lunchtime has ended. Wick, don’t you have Charms? Professor Flitwick will not tolerate tardiness.’

‘Oh.’ Wick stepped back, still frantic. ‘Yes, Professor. Of course.’

He hurried off, and McGonagall gave expectant looks at the others, who all left until it was only Potter stood there. He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Uh, Evans are I have Transfig with _you_ next, Professor. So we can’t be late until you are.’

She gave a terse sigh. ‘That’s where I’m headed _now_ , Potter. So I wouldn’t linger.’

They fell into step a studious distance behind McGonagall, and Lily slid in next to him with a furtive hiss of, ‘What are _you_ doing here?’

‘What do you mean, _what am I doing here_?’ he shot back. ‘Lily Evans gets hauled into McGonagall’s office for an _open scrap_ in the corridors? I wouldn’t miss that for a shot to play for the Tornadoes!’

She rolled her eyes. ‘So glad I’m offering entertainment while fighting for my life.’

‘You didn’t; I missed the fight, which I’m sure will haunt me for the rest of my days.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her a sidelong look of grudging respect. ‘Seeing as, by all reports, you were kicking Carrow’s arse so badly she had to bring out the nasty stuff. Is that true?’

‘It is, which worries the hell out of me; Carrow’s got away with it because not enough people are prepared to stick their necks out and tell the teachers. Who’s going to be hit next?’

He sobered. ‘It’s no coincidence this comes soon after you’ve messed up her brother.’

‘No shit. This is the second time Slytherins and Muggle-borns have gone head to head and we’re two-nil up. There _will_ be a retaliation.’

‘Sure.’ Further away from McGonagall’s office, where it might have seemed improper, they were back in the parts of school bedecked with Christmas cheer. It made the professor’s angry gait seem at odds with the suits of armour singing carols they swept past, or the garlands hovering overhead and occasionally spitting out bursts of tinsel. In these dark times, a nervous Flitwick had gone over the top to bring positivity. ‘But we’ve only got a couple days ‘til term ends. What’re they going to do in that time?’

‘They could do something _right now_ ,’ Lily pointed out. ‘But you’re right, they’ll probably stew and plan first. So I need you to do something for me.’

Potter dropped his voice, eyelashes hanging heavy as he leaned in towards her and drawled, dripping with mockery of them both, ‘You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that, Evans.’

She laughed before she could stop herself, and mitigated that by shoving him away. ‘No! My God, you’re disgusting. And _yet_ people like you and know you better than me, so you can make yourself, if not palatable, then useful…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's’s song after the fight is from a Millwall FC football chant. All I can find is that it originated in the late 70s so December 1976 might be a _bit_ early for it? But poor boy’s a Millwall fan and it seemed fitting under the circumstances.


	26. Writing on the Wall

_When you believe in things that you don't understand,_   
_Then you suffer._   
_-_ _‘Superstition,’ Stevie Wonder (1972)_

Breath burned in his lungs like the news, enough to choke and smother him, enough to set him ablaze from the inside. The embers had glowed for some time now, flaring as he watched, listened, brightening as he tried to ignore them. But now had come the spark, and his throat tasted of smoke.

Even the frozen air of the Astronomy Tower didn’t quench the flames. Even the sight of her here, where he’d known he could find her, find her before anyone else did, doused nothing. So Graham’s breathing still shuddered in his chest as he burst onto the top of the tower, having run all the way, and faced Emmeline Vance. ‘What did you _do_?’

She, long hair as black as the overcast night sky stretched out above, flinched back, and the flames spread to his gut to sicken him. ‘I didn’t think they’d send _you_.’

‘Nobody _sent_ me.’ Despite his words, Graham’s hands were fists by his side as he advanced. ‘I heard what you did.’

Her dismissive smile was forced. ‘Then why’d you _ask_ -’

‘This isn’t a _joke_ , Em! This isn’t like telling Randal he’s wrong or pulling away from Alecto! You _fought_ for Evans!’

Emmeline’s chin tilted up a half-inch. ‘Yes,’ she said, now more firm. ‘Fought to protect her from Alecto, sent by your _brother_ to do his dirty work because he couldn’t risk it going wrong in his face. Which was _your suggestion_ , Graham! Why? You don’t care about Evans. You don’t care that she confronted Amycus, you don’t _like_ the attacks, you don’t care when they’re stopped -’

‘Because before it was just petty bullying or vendettas like Snape and Potter. Political arguments and everyone trying to look big before they go out into the real world. But this is different, this is serious, we’re all going to have to pick a side!’

‘Funny,’ said Emmeline, not sounding at all amused as she looked down her nose at him. ‘I was going to point that out to you, Graham.’

He stopped short. ‘I don’t - you can’t stand against Randal.’

‘Is that where you’ve landed?’ She padded across the open top of the Astronomy Tower, the winter wind whipping through her hair and in his face. Unlike him, she didn’t seem to feel the cold, didn’t seem reached by it. ‘Randal and Saul made the choice for you, so now you’ll stop sitting on the sidelines and get your hands dirty for them?’

‘I’ve not sat -’

‘Don’t act like I don’t know you, Graham. What did we do, all last year? Sneered at your brother for playing politics in school, laughed at Saul for wanting to be better than him, looked down on Alecto and Amycus for being brutish followers. You don’t care about this war. You don’t believe in it. You don’t _like_ Muggle-borns, but you don’t hate them. You don’t wish them harm or want them dead. And you don’t see the Dark Lord’s crusade as a way to redeem your family name, raise your family’s social standing, not like Randal does. So now you’re hedging your bets. Giving Randal advice like you’re his good little soldier, but you’re _not_ his good little soldier or you wouldn’t be here trying to _save_ me.’

‘Save you?’

‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it. You’re hoping you can _somehow_ make me see the error of my ways so I’ll crawl before your brother and Alecto and then you can vouch for me and it’ll be just how it was. But it’s never going to be, Graham. And it’s only going to get worse from here. If you want the quiet life with your brother, with Saul, you’re going to have to get your hands a hell of a lot dirtier than they already are. You’ll have to give Randal all that advice which that cunning, nasty little streak of yours can give. You’re going to have to stand by and watch as he and Amycus do _worse_ than what they did to Aubrey.’ She was stood right before him now, and while her arguments had come quick and thudding like a train carriage’s rattle, now Emmeline softened, voice dropping, face falling. ‘Or do those things yourself. And that’s not _you_ , Graham.’

His breath now caught in his throat, and still it burned. He swallowed hard, and his voice came out rasping. ‘Who’s trying to save who now, Em?’

‘ _Please_ , Graham.’ Her hand came to his arm, and he had to work to not flinch back at her touch, white-hot against the cold winter wind. ‘People don’t deserve what Randal would do to them. You know that. We can help, we can _stop_ him -’

‘ _How_?’ He jerked away now, lip curling. ‘ _How_ am I supposed to stop my brother? How am I supposed to tell him to _not_ do these things, to leave Muggle-borns alone, to walk away from this? Or Saul, or Amycus and Alecto? There’s always going to be _someone_ doing this, and I’m not like you, my _family_ _’s_ not like yours. I go home and this is _still my life_ , Em! I can’t just cut myself out of things I don’t _like_ and act like they won’t touch me.’

‘You’re in a damn sight better spot than me,’ she said, eyes flashing again. ‘If you try to stop them, you’re not going to get attacked in your own dormitory -’

‘I think you _sorely_ underestimate Randal if you think I can stand against him, against the Movement, and he’ll do _nothing_ to expunge a threat to the family name,’ spat Graham before he could stop himself.

Emmeline straightened, frowning. ‘He’s your _brother_ -’

‘And you really _don_ _’t_ know what you’re up against.’ He straightened, arms folding across his chest. ‘For what we were, I can give you a couple of days. I can keep everyone off you until you go home. And then you’re going to do the smartest thing possible: you won’t come back.’

He didn’t wait for a reply, turning on his heel to stalk out of the Astronomy Tower. He didn’t stop as he surged into the crowds of students heading for dinner, went straight down to the dungeons where he knew he would find Randal. But he’d expected his brother to be back in his brooding state before the fire, and instead he had to push into the seventh years’ dormitory, finding him sat at a desk scribbling away furtively. ‘Randal?’

His brother pushed back from the desk, gaze stony. That, at least, was predictable. ‘Where have you been?’

‘You don’t have to worry about Emmeline,’ Graham said by way of answer, crossing the room to sit on the bed across from the desk. ‘I’ll deal with her. Give me until the new year; there’s not enough time and Slughorn will expect us to do something before the break. But when she’s back, I’ll handle it. That’ll make more of an impact, show we’ve all turned our backs on her if _I_ do something.’ And when Emmeline heeded his advice and stayed out of school, he’d see how he could spin it. Either take credit for driving her off, or shrug and point out she was out of their reach and didn’t matter any more. And it would be fine.

Randal put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t ask that of you.’

‘It’s the right thing to do,’ said Graham, bile in his throat.

‘I know she was important to you.’

_Which is why I_ _’m keeping Alecto off her back and letting her get away._ He swallowed. ‘So are you. Are you alright?’

Randal gave a gentle snort. ‘You were smart to have me send Alecto against Evans. We’ve been underestimating her. I might have handled her and Vance, but it could have gone sorely wrong, and we can’t afford that right now.’

‘Come the new year, nobody will remember this fight, nobody will remember her -’

‘Of course they will. She’s beaten us twice now. She’s a symbol, a rallying point. Worst of all, everyone’s going to expect us to target her. She’s got teachers on her side, she’s got Potter’s mob. They’re going to watch her, they’re going to protect her. So, no matter how much I’d like to see her beaten bloody, we can’t come at her head on.’

Graham stared at his brother, mouth now going dry, and wondered if he’d been a hypocrite to accuse Emmeline of underestimating Randal. ‘Then what are you going to do?’

Randal Mulciber gave a sphinx-like smile. ‘Don’t worry, little brother.’ He patted the desk, and Graham could see now it was a letter he’d been writing, details impossible to make out from here. ‘She’s going to get hit where it’ll hurt her the most.’

§

Potter said he could do it, and Lily had been in no position to question. It was a job which required his particular skills; skills with people, skills with getting word out, skills at being _known_. So she’d kept her head down through the last days before the Christmas break, with festive cheer all around and a lump of lead in her gut. The news of the fight had gone through the school like wildfire, and she’d found herself at the centre of the storm. More glares from Slytherins and their allies amongst the pure-bloods, more small smiles from nervous Muggle-borns. The condemnation was louder than the solidarity, because few people dared come up and publicly crow with her over a fight against Alecto Carrow, but those nods, those furtive glances, those glimmers of gratitude were still what Lily took to heart most of all. She had no chance to find Emmeline Vance alone, and so her intervention remained a mystery.

‘Maybe she didn’t want to be supplanted as Wicked Witch of the West by Carrow,’ said a grumpy Dory when they were packing in their dormitory. ‘Maybe _she_ wanted to be the one to hex you until you turned into spiders or exploded with blood. I don’t bloody know. Why does Emmeline Vance do _anything_?’

‘Except it’s not the first time she sided with me,’ Lily pointed out. ‘And this was _obvious_ , loud.’

‘Still, she’s not been stabbed by the Slytherins. So maybe they’re trying to get someone on your good side.’

Lily couldn’t help but scoff. ‘Emmeline Vance? On my _good side_?’

‘ _Exactly_ ,’ said Dory. ‘It’d be a stupid plan. So believing it’s genuine is _also_ dumb.’

There was some logic there, and still Lily couldn’t shake her confusion. But Emmeline Vance had spent long years as the alpha Slytherin bitch. Carrow had historically been the beta leaning around from behind and shaking her fist menacingly. It was why Carrow now, despite all her efforts, plainly had to share some power with Yaxley, more charismatic, more likable. Vance had been all things - quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and with a poise and commanding presence to make all sorts of people follow and listen. The power void left in her wake could not be filled by just one person. But even though Vance had seemingly given up her throne, she’d made a lot of enemies along the way. Lily had been one of them, at the receiving end of her bullying, only barely protected by Severus because Emmeline Vance didn’t _care_ about Severus Snape. Dory had, Lily remembered when she cast her mind back to history beyond her own nose, been another.

But Vance couldn’t consume all of her worry. And a deep-seated worry it was, wormed under her skin and set alongside her bones. This wasn’t the old tensions, the fear for just herself, the apprehension at walking down a corridor riddled with Slytherins and not knowing what they’d do. This came with an added weight and importance, a burden that wasn’t settling on her shoulders, but becoming a _part_ of her.

Even festive cheer couldn’t shift it. The days left at school were filled with students refusing to care about final lessons, with dodging Peeves using Christmas as an excuse for fresh attacks with snowballs. With Abernathy’s seat at the top table exploding into a pile of tinsel the moment he sat, and though nobody was caught and punished for it, Sirius Black only laughed _that_ hard at his own pranks.

She should have enjoyed that. Anything undermining Abernathy, who preferred a quiet life to justice, only helped. But right after came Professor Drake’s final Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, the very last lesson of her term. There he decided to teach them about the legislature which covered when wizards _were_ allowed to use magic against Muggles, and the occasions when wizards had ended up the victims of Muggles - holding back, claimed Drake, for fear of falling foul of anti-Muggle baiting laws that had, in this case, hamstrung the magical community and denied it the chance of defending itself.

That left the foulest taste in her mouth of all, the reminder of the world that waited her even once she was outside of the grasp of Mulciber and the Carrows.

It almost ruined the final festive feast before departure, but Jack had stared Abernathy in the eye and walked straight to the Gryffindor table while McGonagall did nothing to stop him. So even at her most tense and apprehensive, Lily couldn’t let the last celebration with her friends be ruined. Then it was tumbling out into the snowy grounds, bundling into the carriages to take them away from school, onto the Express for it to pull away from Hogwarts.

The train ride home had always held a strange melancholy for Lily. It was like waking up from a dream and lying in bed, trying to snatch the memories before they disappeared like all dreams did, and knowing soon the real world would beckon. The real world held her family, and troubles mundane and real which made magic feel like some fleeting distraction or lie. It wasn’t that she disliked the real world, missing her father bitterly, but every time she went back, the dream of magic felt more and more real.

This time, it was set to follow her.

But she’d almost forgotten that until, an hour into her train ride in the compartment with Jack and Dory, the door was thrust open for Potter to burst in. And he wasn’t alone; not just with Black and Remus and Pettigrew behind him, but a host of faces she could see crammed over his shoulder. Kendricks and Richmond and Smithson and others yet, some Muggle-borns she knew by name and some she knew by sight and some she hadn’t even known were Muggle-borns at all.

‘We’re going to need,’ said Potter with a triumphant smirk, ‘more space.’

Dory gave Lily a suspicious look. ‘What the hell is going on.’

Lily rose, the apprehension bubbling in her chest. ‘Security,’ she said simply. ‘Unity.’ And followed Potter out the door.

Potter had done as she’d asked. The corridor was jam-packed with those he’d gone and gathered, through his friends in classes and Quidditch, doing what she couldn’t because everyone _knew_ James Potter, and if James Potter asked people to come together, they’d do it. If she’d asked, there’s still be plenty who’d say _who_ or _why_ or _sod off_.

‘Is this enough?’ he said, and for a heartbeat she thought he was being smug until she saw the gleam of nerves in his eyes.

Lily had to beam. ‘It’s _fantastic_.’ She couldn’t even roll her eyes at the melodrama of Sirius Black when he put in front of her one of the stools to help little First Years get their luggage into racks, so she could step up and see over the sea of heads, heads who all turned towards her. And suddenly, looking into their curious, suspicious, or _expectant_ eyes, this was scarier than facing off against all the Slytherins combined. ‘Um.’

Somehow, that was all it took for them to fall silent, which just made it worse, and she tried to not wring her hands together. ‘Uh, thanks for coming.’ _No, this sounds like you_ _’re at a bloody charity gala_. ‘I’ll keep it quick. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have some clue what this is about. Simply put, we might be going home, but I don’t think we should assume we’re safe.’

_That_ sent a rumble through the crowd, and she could hear Dory click her tongue disapprovingly from beside her. ‘Real good pep talk, Red,’ she hissed. ‘Nice and reassuring.’

‘What I mean is,’ Lily stumbled, ‘so often we go home in the holidays and we think it’s over. How we check out a crowd down a corridor for threats, for who’ll throw a slur or a hex or trip you up. How we have to check our words before speaking up in class, see who’s going to turn them against us. Maybe how we have to check if our own _dorms_ are safe before going up for bed. We go home in holidays and think we’re done needing to keep our heads down. And maybe we are.’ She drew a sharp, awkward breath. ‘But this year’s been different. The Slytherins, the pure-bloods, they’re not just tripping us in the corridors. They’re _attacking_ us.’

‘Sure!’ called a voice from the crowd, a fifth year Hufflepuff she didn’t recognise. ‘Because _you_ attacked them!’

‘They - they were first, with Aubrey,’ Lily stammered, aware how childish that sounded.

‘Then you went and flipped off Carrow! Both of them! So if they’re going to come -’

‘Oh, don’t be a tosser all your life, Mason!’ That was Jack, straightening up next to her. ‘You know they’ll come for us no matter what. It was going to get worse some day, weren’t it.’ He glared at the crowd, arms folded across his broad chest. ‘So you can whinge at the only person who’s done something about it, or you can shut up and listen.’

‘Don’t -’ Lily flapped a hand at him. ‘I mean, yes, but you don’t need to - I’m not coming here and saying I’ve got all the answers. All I’m trying to do here is to encourage you to be careful at home.’

‘Great bloody plan,’ she heard Mason mutter, but he was shushed by some around him and that gave her a new swell of confidence.

‘By which I _mean_ , you should take precautions. Most of you can’t do magic outside of school. And most of you don’t have a direct line to the Ministry, most of you won’t have Enforcers patrolling the areas where you live. Most of you are cut off completely from the world of magic during holidays. But we’re _not_ cut off from each other. All I want,’ she said, lifting her hands, ‘is simple. Pick people in the crowd. Pick your friends. Pick people you don’t even _know_. Exchange phone numbers, exchange addresses for owls if you own them. And stay in touch over the holidays. Maybe every day. Maybe every other day. And if you see something weird, something worrying, _say_. Spread word. And if you don’t _hear_ from someone when you’re supposed to - then do something about it. Tell someone. Tell the Ministry.’ She could see the scepticism in eyes still, and grimaced. ‘We think we’re safe during the holidays because we’re cut off from the world of magic. So I don’t want this safety to be turned into a weapon against us. I don’t want to hear of someone attacked in the holidays _because_ they’re cut off, isolated.’

That sent a fresh wave of murmurs through the crowd, but this time they were troubled and attentive. ‘That’s all,’ Lily said at last. ‘I’m not going to put together some master list or organise it for you. I just thought it’d be good to get as many of you in the same place as I could, so we could talk about it, so we can get it done _now_ , before we all split off. And it doesn’t have to be just yourselves; keep in touch with your half-blood and pure-blood friends if you can, just _keep in touch_. Thanks.’

She stepped down, and there was a moment where the crowd clearly wasn’t sure what to do. Then someone - it took her a moment to realise it was Kendricks - punched a fist in the air and yelled, ‘And here’s to sticking it to the bloody Carrows!’

And despite the apprehension, despite the thudding fear of what awaited her at home and what awaited her when she returned the Hogwarts, the cheer that broke out at _that_ was enough to, finally, warm through winter’s chill.

§

‘Now, you have to promise to not open them before Christmas Day.’ Fletch rattled the two awfully-wrapped packages at Cecil and Hargreaves and forced her smile to reach her eyes.

The Hogwarts Express was like an interlude in festive cheer. School had been adorned in all the decorations and fuss; the station and London would be even more exuberantly ready to celebrate. But here was all drab, the stained benches and the battered, ancient wood panelling of the compartments. Fletch liked it, in a morbid sort of way; it felt realistic. But the rest of her remained the showman, aware how necessary it was to look good if you wanted people to feel good. People who felt good spent money. And so did Christmas decorations justify themselves.

From looking at Cecil and Hargreaves, she suspected she didn’t have much coming her way this Christmas. Cecil flicked through a magazine with impossible reading speed, eyes behind his spectacles unfocused. Hargreaves slumped against the window, watching the world rattle by. Both were slow to sit up and look at her.

‘Who’d open presents before Christmas?’ grunted Hargreaves, taking the small package.

‘The impatient,’ said Cecil, already tugging at a loose corner of wrapping. ‘Uh. I’m still waiting on the owl delivery -’

‘I know it’s easier for you guys to shop outside of Hogwarts. Don’t worry about it.’ Presents were the one thing Fletch didn’t treat as a transaction. It was like a celebration to herself, to have made enough money she could buy things for her friends; a boast, a demonstration of casual wealth. Though there had been nothing casual about scraping the knuts together for these.

‘Thanks.’ Hargreaves stowed the package and went back to looking out the window.

Cecil looked at her and fidgeted with the magazine. ‘You’re not, uh, going to that thing of Potter’s -’

‘Evans, you mean,’ she muttered. ‘No, I don’t jump when they call. Stupid, isn’t it, to act like she’s got something to say which is important to _all_ Muggle-borns. Like we all think alike.’

Cecil glanced at Fletch, who fought to keep her expression level. _Don_ _’t bring me into this_. ‘Should have paid you to go so you could let me know what the fuss is,’ she said with forced levity. ‘Always helps to keep our ears to the ground -’

‘Evans is fighting a war that’s going to get her beaten up some day.’ Hargreaves didn’t look away from the window. ‘That’s not a _business opportunity_ , Fletch.’

‘I just - alright.’ Conversations about internal Hogwarts politics had more and more gone this way over the last few weeks; a surly, seemingly disinterested Hargreaves who nevertheless snapped if the subject was discussed too long _or_ treated with too much levity. So it was with a dash of pettiness that Fletch sat up and said, ‘So who takes care of the horse over winter?’

Hargreaves stiffened. ‘Kettleburn. He gets people in. Surprised Mulciber’s not paying for something.’

‘You could ask him to.’

‘That’ll take talking to him.’

_I_ _’m sure a school project with neither person talking to each other will go swimmingly._ But Hargreaves’ surliness was a warning of worse to come if she pushed, so Fletch let the final leg of the trip to King’s Cross pass in silence and the occasional pointless chat with Cecil.

Hargreaves helped them with their luggage off the train when they arrived, then just shrugged and said, ‘See you in a couple weeks, then.’

For years now, she’d come to and from King’s Cross by herself, catching the Tube back to Brixton. So she had nobody to wait for, nobody to meet, and Fletch and Cecil watched as Hargreaves hefted her battered luggage and hauled it rattling down the platform. Cecil rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Is she alright?’

‘It’s Amy,’ said Fletch. ‘When _is_ she okay?’

‘Yeah, but she’s been _worse_.’

_Everything_ _’s worse_. ‘I bet she’s homesick,’ Fletch lied. ‘She’ll be right as rain in the new year.’

‘I guess.’ Cecil shifted his feet. ‘Well, then. You have a good Christmas?’

They hugged, more for his benefit than hers, and Fletch tried to ignore the awkward way he hung around an extra few seconds before he set off to find his parents on the station. Cecil, at least, had a nice, normal family; Fletch knew he was the youngest, with two elder brothers who had made prefect and excellent NEWTs and were going on to important, boring middle-management prospects in the Ministry. Cecil, meanwhile, worked damned hard for his As and was accordingly ignored, but at least his parents _made_ it to meet him at the station at the end of a term.

Then again, at least she, Fletch, had more family to come see her than Hargreaves. It took her a few minutes of rattling towards the exit before she spotted her brother, but there was no showmanship, no veneer of control or cool indifference when she threw herself into his laughing arms. ‘ _Gus_!’

Gus bodily lifted her off the ground and swung her around in a manner designed to irritate as many people around them. ‘Alright, Trouble? Had a good year?’

‘Oh, the usual. Free-wheeling and hard dealing. I guess I took some classes along the way.’

‘Yeah, you did.’ He was barely taller than her, but stout with it. Fates had not been kind to her brother, starting with her parents’ unfortunate choice in names: _Mundungus_ was, perhaps, even less kind than _Cornelia._ That he could shorten his name was a double-edged sword, as for every call of _Gus_ there was a shout of _Dung_. But she had a much easier time of being liked, or being likable; Gus, with his perpetually lopsided face and inadvertent leer always gave people the wrong impression. He ruffled her hair. ‘Someone’s gotta be the smart one, kiddo.’

By Gus’ standards, getting a NEWT would make her smart. She supposed everything was relative. ‘How’s work?’

‘Shit, still. Mum and Dad still say it’s not a real job. I think they just want me out.’ Without asking, Gus grabbed her trunk to drag it for her towards the exit. ‘You can help keep ‘em off my back.’

‘Oh, great, Gus. That’s just what I come back for Christmas for: family feuds.’ But Fletch was grinning as she left the station with her brother, and this was no studied smirk or calculated smile, because here was one person who never expected her to perform in any way but being fun and accepting him.

And that was something Fletch could do for free.

§

The empty compartment hadn’t been easy to find, and Sirius hadn’t been much interested in privacy for a deep and meaningful conversation. So when Marlene murmured, ‘You’ll come visit me over Christmas?’ with her head resting on his chest as they sprawled together across one of the benches, his throat tightened.

‘Oh, come on, we’ve still got an hour left, Marls -’

She looked up, and finally he saw a tension in her blue eyes, finally saw a spark of irritation he’d before now only ever glimpsed hints of beneath the surface. ‘And then we’re apart for two weeks.’ She sat up. ‘And I _know_ you’ll go see James -’

‘That’s not really up to me.’ He pushed away, back to the compartment wall. ‘Depends on how easily I can get away from my family.’

He watched her hesitate, watched her stall for time as she fidgeted with errant strands of long, thick blonde hair to tie them back into a bun. ‘Then maybe I could visit.’

Sirius couldn’t help it. He laughed. ‘Are you _kidding_ \- Marls, that’s a terrible -’

‘Don’t _Marls_ me.’ She got to her feet, though her irritation sounded more petulant than fiery, upset than angry. ‘As if it’s so unreasonable for me to want us to spend time together, for maybe us to see each other outside of school. You don’t - you keep me isolated, Sirius, you don’t include me with the things you do with your friends…’

‘That’s different. That’s - I’ve been friends with the guys for years, we do stuff together - you wouldn’t enjoy it!’

‘Maybe - maybe not the parts where you end up in _detention_ , no,’ she said stiffly. ‘But I like Remus, and James has been a lot _nicer_ lately if he can even get on with Lily -’

Sirius scoffed. ‘He’s only nice to Evans ‘cos he fancies her; he wouldn’t bother with a fussy bookworm like her otherwise.’

It was the wrong thing to say - or, perhaps, for the part of him that craved an escape, the right thing. She stopped in her aggravated gesturing and went very, very still. ‘No,’ Marlene said, voice all at once quite distant. ‘I can’t imagine she’s the sort of girl that boys like you would be interested in spending time with in a _friendly_ way without constantly tuning out what she’s saying so you can think about snogging her.’

He swung his legs over the bench to sit up. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ he lied. ‘That’s just about those two.’

‘Really? Because it feels a bit about us,’ she said very fast, turning to him. ‘Because I know you’re the cool, exciting Sirius and I never _ever_ thought that a boy like you would be interested in someone like me - I’m not an idiot, I know I’m not the usual kind of girlfriend or even the most _interesting_ kind of girlfriend, and I don’t know _what_ possessed you to flirt with me at the party except some sense of _gratitude_ at the hostess -’

Her words came quickly enough to bludgeon him, so when he talked it was with a dull, distant tone. ‘That wasn’t gratitude…’

‘Then whatever it was! But I do understand, Sirius, I understand that this might not be what you _want_ , and…’ She looked as if she’d been lurching towards a precipice only to stop short, to catch herself, and she looked away. ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe we should just stop and think over the Christmas break and - and you can come back and we can see where we are.’

He heard the unspoken parts. _You can decide what you want_. But she hadn’t dared say it, just like he hadn’t dared speak _his_ mind, and there they were, in ultimatums without nerve and choices without action. Her eyes were on him, but all he could do was swallow, baffled - and then she was turning on her heel and rushing out of the compartment.

The worst thing was he had no idea what that _meant_.

But they weren’t far from King’s Cross, and he had more fires in which to burn even before he returned to the inferno for his soul that was Grimmauld Place. He found the other three in the compartment they’d claimed at the beginning of the trip, only for all four of them to scatter to the winds - him to Marlene, Remus to prefect duties, Peter to Stacey (or Tracy, Sirius still wasn’t sure), and James, of course, still pandering to Evans’ every need.

Remus arched an eyebrow the moment he saw him. ‘What did you say?’

‘What?’

‘Marlene. You’ve got a look like she kicked you. Was it hard enough?’

_I don_ _’t know._ Instead of voicing that, Sirius scoffed and sank into an indolent slouch next to James. ‘She’s fine. Girl’s mad about me, Moony.’

‘I suppose she’d have to be,’ mumbled Peter, barely looking up from his magazine. ‘Or just mad?’

‘ _Speaking_ of mad about girls,’ said Sirius, turning to James because he didn’t want to talk about this any more. ‘How’s selling your balls to Evans been going?’

James frowned. ‘Hang on, _they_ _’re_ the ones who ragged at you and _I_ _’m_ getting shit?’

‘Got to keep you on your toes.’ Sirius put his hands behind his head. ‘She’ll make you soft.’

‘While Marlene has done _wonders_ for you - and anyway, it’s not like that. Evans and I are _friends_.’

‘And that’s all you want.’

‘That’s all that _matters_ ; she’s with Wick. What’s eating you?’

‘Nothing. I just hoped you’d have thought of _us_ more before you painted a target on our heads by backing up Evans like that.’

Remus and Peter both looked up, startled. ‘We didn’t -’ Remus caught himself. ‘ _I_ don’t feel like that.’

Peter shook his head. ‘No, me neither -’

‘Sure,’ said Sirius before James could stop being flabbergasted enough to argue. ‘But we always kept ourselves to ourselves - above the petty politics, right to the side, and sure, we’d hit Snivellus and swoop at Avery and even the Mulcibers from time to time. But it’s not like we weren’t afraid to deflate Burke’s head every once in a while, or Travers when he was only a _mild_ pillock, or even Hardy last year. And _he_ was a Muggle-born Head Boy.’

James sat up, one hand tense on the window ledge. Southern England rattled by the train, cast into blackness this time of day, with night coming so early in winter. ‘What’s your _point_?’

There was an edge to his voice Sirius didn’t recognise, but he smarted too badly from the talk with Marlene to be cautious. ‘My point is when did we go _politics_ , James, and when was that a good idea?’

Remus cleared his throat. ‘It’s important -’

‘ _You_ were the one saying you had to keep your head down ‘cos flipping off the school for doing nothing would be flipping off everyone who cut you slack. How’s it better to make people _hate_ you more, Remus?’ Sirius straightened. ‘For us to get Mulciber’s attention more, so maybe he _listens_ when Snivellus says he’s got something on us, when he’s got something on _Remus_ -’

Remus shot to his feet. ‘This isn’t fair, Sirius,’ he snapped. ‘If you’ve got a problem with what James is doing, then _say so_. Don’t say you’re objecting on _my_ behalf.’

James, though, did look a little crestfallen, and raised his hands. ‘He’s got a point, Moony. There wasn’t - I didn’t much think about you guys.’

Peter shifted his weight. ‘I reckon we can look after ourselves.’

‘We can.’ Remus turned to James, face still flushed. ‘Do you actually _agree_ with Lily? Do you actually _care_ about what she says, what she’s doing? Or are you still trying to impress her?’

James’ expression shifted. ‘We all know she’s right, don’t we. We’ve just been _playing_ at rebels before now, like we’re the outcasts, the outsiders. We’ve fancied ourselves above politics because they _haven_ _’t hit us_. We’ve sat on the sidelines because we _can_. Not everyone has that luxury. Evans is taking a stand. And if we’re half the damned rebels we like to _think_ we are, we’ve got to help her.’

‘It helps,’ muttered Sirius, ‘that you think she’s hot.’

Now James was on his feet, eyes flashing. ‘So _what_ , Sirius, does sticking it to your family only go as far as listening to Muggle music and buying Muggle clothes, and you draw the line at helping _actual Muggles_ -’

He’d wanted a fight with Marlene so badly the anger came easily, now, much more easily than the situation warranted. In a heartbeat Sirius was standing, too, gaze locked on James’. ‘This isn’t about my _family_ , this is about looking out for you guys -’

‘So, what, _you_ _’re_ the responsible one now? Or do you just not _dare_ to get your hands mucky -’

Remus would have normally stepped in by the time both had stood, but Sirius had already pissed Remus off. So the intervention was both later than and different to what they expected, but no less effective. A spray of cold water from the corner of the compartment was more than enough.

All three sputtered and jumped back - Remus had been close enough and pissy enough, still, to be targeted. Then they all rounded on Peter, stood on the bench in the corner, wand in hand and still dripping from the spell, scowling. ‘What’s the _matter_ with you all? Fighting at a bloody time like this. Now _I_ _’ve_ got to be the grown up? That’s _bollocks_.’

Remus wiped water from his face. ‘Pete, you don’t -’

‘Apparently _you_ _’re_ shirty today, too, Remus, so I got to.’ He pursed his lips. ‘James warned us this might happen - not us _bitching_ at each other, but that we’d invite more trouble. So Sirius, you don’t have much right to barge in and be pissy. But James? Sirius isn’t wrong. You _know_ we’ve got your back when it’s important. We have _never_ had your back for your hare-brained schemes to impress Evans. We usually sit back with those and watch.’

‘Giggling,’ Sirius added quietly.

‘With popcorn,’ Remus agreed.

‘Exactly.’ Peter waggled his wand. ‘So you can forgive us, maybe, if we worry about your _reasoning_ for suddenly being super into politics. Even if you’re using fancy words about it. Next you’ll say shit like “duty”.’

Sirius sagged, the fires of anger doused by the water - and then, after the water, shame. He reached out to clasp James’ shoulder, and found his best friend still tense. ‘This is about your dad, isn’t it,’ he said quietly. ‘I want to flip mine off. You want to make yours proud.’

James hesitated. ‘I’m not doing this to impress my family. Or Evans. But they’re right, and - I don’t know. We’re past the time of sitting around.’

‘Especially,’ drawled Remus, glancing to the window, ‘because we’re arriving. So we can freeze to death by walking outside in winter, soaking wet.’

‘I’m not sorry,’ said Peter, putting away his wand. ‘You needed it.’

Sirius laughed. ‘So much for solidarity!’

‘I could say the same to you!’

‘Ah,’ said James, drawing his wand with a slow smirk, ‘but you did say we had each other’s backs.’

By the time the train slid to a halt and they stumbled onto the freezing cold platform, laughing with all arguments forgotten, they were _all_ sopping wet.


	27. I Am What I Am

_Nobody_ _’s gonna change my world,_   
_That_ _’s something too unreal,_   
_Nobody will change the way I feel._   
_-_ _‘You Won’t Change Me,’ Black Sabbath (1976)_

The most annoying thing about coming back on the Hogwarts Express was the knowledge that if she threw herself off the train a couple of hours before King’s Cross, she’d be closer to home. But for once there was something to look forward to at the station, even if it was in a bittersweet sort of way. For once, she had friends to properly say goodbye to at the station in more than a well-meaning but obligatory manner; Dory to hug and Jack to nag to _stay in touch_ , because she was damned if she wasn’t going to keep to her own safety plan. And then, of course, Wick to kiss goodbye. Even when she’d still been friendly with Severus, she’d never made too much of a show in public, and he’d been picked up by his mother for them to meet up later while she was faced with the Knight Bus journey home alone.

That, at least, didn’t change. It was always dark by the time she made it to Cokeworth, the bus dumping her only at the outskirts before the main road wound its way through the town centre proper and became cramped and crowded enough to inconvenience even magic transportation a little. So she had to trundle down the pavement with her trunk, regretting as she always did that her younger self had demanded old-fashioned luggage just to be pretentiously enthusiastic, in a fifteen minute walk in the cold. It was a stark reminder she owned no good Muggle winter coat, only thick robes she could hardly wear when curtain-twitching neighbours might catch a glimpse out a window.

Every time she came back, Cokeworth looked smaller. From the distant, twinkling lights of the old town and its narrow terraces tumbling down the hillside below, to the neater, more modern post-war estate where she lived. Once cosy and comfortable, now it felt more detached than ever, an artificial construct far away from everything that was real. Everything that _mattered_.

Almost.

The smell of cooking hit her the moment she opened the door, and for a second everything was normal. But it was her father’s voice calling from the kitchen, and only her father’s; only Stephen who emerged to wrap her in a fierce hug. While she clutched tightly at her father, buried her face in his shoulder and let herself feel for a moment like she was a child again, the absence howled within and around her - around them both.

It didn’t help that the eventual dinner did not, despite her father’s best efforts, taste especially _good_ , but she ate gamely and he made the usual apologetic jokes before dropping the bombshell. ‘We’re only getting Petunia on the twenty-third. Quite late.’

Lily stabbed under-done beans with her fork. ‘And she says _I_ neglect home.’

‘It’s her office,’ said Stephen with an indulgent shrug. ‘But at least because Christmas is on a Saturday she’s got Monday and Tuesday here, though they were apparently irritated she needed Wednesday morning off to travel.’

‘What’re they expecting her to do, teleport in the morning? Find a train that _runs_ on a bank holiday?’

‘Own a car, I imagine. I offered to drive her on Tuesday myself if it was that or she stay in London, but she apparently managed to talk the boss’s son into it.’

‘I’m sure she did,’ Lily mumbled, then ate a potato to escape her father’s gimlet glance. ‘It’s not as if she’s going to get into the spirit of things, anyway.’

‘Lily -’

‘She won’t even watch Morecambe and Wise with us,’ she said, as if this was the highest offence Petunia could commit. But her father thinned his lips, tense in that way he’d been since her mother’s death about the distance between his daughters, and she cleared her throat. ‘So it’s just you and me for most of the fortnight?’

‘Mostly you.’ The corners of her father’s eyes creased apologetically. ‘Work -’

‘Goes on, of course.’ She shrugged and stabbed another potato. ‘I’ve got studying to get on with anyway.’

‘We’ll have the evenings, we’ll watch TV, you can tell me everything that happened this term.’

 _Almost everything_. ‘The phone might go for me. Quite a bit. I won’t be ignoring you to talk to my friends or anything, but I’m keeping in touch with them.’

Stephen narrowed his eyes a hint. ‘You don’t usually do that.’

‘It’s - going to the party was good for me. I’ve had a much better year. Got close to some people I didn’t really know.’

There was a pause, a pause where Stephen glanced to one of the empty seats at the dinner table, then cleared his throat. ‘This isn’t about a boy, is it?’

The thought of telling her father about Wick hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d never _had_ anyone to tell her family about before, and now she did, she wasn’t sure how to do it. Not telling them about so many essentials of her life had become second-nature, both out of avoiding worry and not knowing how they could relate. Keeping something so _normal_ a secret felt jarring, and at the same time natural. But there was one serious problem with denying it. ‘It will _be_ a boy who should call,’ she said truthfully. ‘Jack. The one in the jacket.’

‘ _Ah_ ,’ said former Sergeant-Major Stephen Evans, the one syllable dripping with all expected disapproval someone of his background, training, diligence and discipline might have for a figure like Jack Corrigan. ‘I had wondered -’

‘It’s not like that,’ Lily blurted. ‘He’s just a _friend_ , Dad, honestly.’

He watched her a forkful of mashed potato, looking unconvinced. ‘At least he’s better than that Snape boy.’ Habit must have made her frown, because it wasn’t as if she had a problem with her father criticising Severus these days. ‘I know you used to be close, but I’m honestly not sorry you’re not friendly with him any more. I didn’t like the way he looked at you.’

‘It wasn’t like that with Severus, either -’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ Awkward again, it was his turn to prod his food. ‘It’s not that he looked down on you, not quite. There was just a streak of…’

His voice had trailed off as he sought the words, so Lily was blunt when she said, ‘No, he _did_ look down on me. Does. He thinks I’m lesser.’

‘Because you’re not from a magical family.’ She’d never told her parents about the prejudice, not in so many words. So she was stunned for a moment, and Stephen shrugged again. ‘Little things you’ve said. And not said. The problems you had with your Ministry when your mother - little things. And it makes sense, doesn’t it, if you accept humans are equally awful in magical and non-magical worlds. You’re like an immigrant to them.’

She bit her lip. ‘Very much so.’

Stephen grunted, and started sawing at overdone beef. ‘They’re the sort who’d agree with Enoch Powell. Should complain to Callaghan,’ he decided, life-long Labour voter that he was, and even though he didn’t have the full nuances of the situation, Lily’s heart swelled, because there wasn’t much greater condemnation of her opponents that her father could give.

§

The wind and rain could whip in from the sea with the taste of salt and the cut of frost all it liked, because it was from his sea and onto his land and he was home. Stone should have been cold to the touch, chilling as he traced a fingertip along the crevice of the rune carving, but he felt it not, felt only the shape of the rune, felt only what it was trying to tell him.

And even then there were no answers. Never clear answers when his eye was drawn to Ansuz above all other inscriptions in the ancient standing stone atop the cliff. The swirling symbols and intricate carvings said many things, some of which he had deciphered under his father’s tutelage over the years, some of which still held mysteries to him and all modern wizard kind. Together they weaved stories and passed on messages, but there was meaning in the individual inscriptions, to, just as there was meaning in the individual moments that made up the minutes and hours and days that haunted him.

There was a message escaping him right now. He felt it in the stone just as surely as he felt it in his bones; he held all the answers, but couldn’t yet see them. He’d hoped being away from Hogwarts with its claustrophobic politics and back home with true earth underfoot would bring illumination. But distance only made him squint at the problems, brought them out of focus, and in his heart of hearts he knew he’d hoped not for truth, but for the cowardly escape that came with detachment.

The wind proved to steal more than warmth, though, for Graham almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a touch at his elbow, and whipped around to see Madeline stood there, bundled up against the cold better than him, blue hood of her robes raised to shield from the wind. It suited her better, he thought, to stand here. In Hogwarts, in uniform robes, she looked small and pale and insignificant. Here, the chill and wind made her seem taller, persevering.

‘Mother sent me up,’ was all she said, lips pursing.

‘It’s not dinnertime.’

‘It will be soon. And it’ll be dark sooner, so you’ll break your idiot neck on the walk down.’ Madeline shrugged under her fur-mantled robes, soft grey stroking against porcelain cheeks.

‘I can always find my way back.’ His jaw set as he looked her up and down. ‘You don’t come here much.’

Another shrug. ‘Not if I can help it.’

‘You should, you -’

‘Don’t, Graham.’ He flinched at the velvet iron in her voice. ‘You sound like Randal. Don’t lecture me on what I “should” do.’

‘Father would want you to.’

‘Father would want me to choose for myself. That’s what he fought for, isn’t it? My right as a witch to choose my own path? _You_ want me to, and yet you hardly lecture Randal on his piety.’

 _I_ _’m comfortable with my spiritual path and Randal’s not crossing._ He couldn’t say that, though, not even up here at the cliff with the standing stones as dusk threatened grey skies. ‘I find it helps to be here to remember him.’

‘I remember him in my own way.’ Another shrug, another excuse to burrow deeper into the furs. ‘My relationship with him wasn’t yours. Neither Randal _nor_ I had your relationship with him.’ Madeline let out a slow breath that would have misted had the wind not snatched it away. ‘This isn’t the time for this. Mother sent me up because we have a _guest_.’

The emphasis was not lost on him. This was a visitor, not someone invited. Graham straightened. ‘Who?’

‘You won’t believe until you see,’ she said simply, and turned for the path. He gave the standing stones, what little shadows they could cast with the sun so obscured behind clouds long and stretching towards the sea, one last look before he followed.

 _The mainstay of wisdom and solace of sages_ _…_  
  
‘Randal’s been angry since coming home,’ Madeline said once he caught up.

‘Randal’s always angry.’

‘It’s something else. I think he’s really worried about leaving school.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t have much sympathy, but it must be hard to worry about going from the big man to the the newcomer.’

It would be, he thought, refreshing to not have to answer to Randal at home and at Hogwarts, to get a whole year where the only eyes of judgement he had to care about in the common room were Saul’s, and Saul he could reach an understanding with. ‘He’ll manage.’

‘I know. It’s not really him I worry about.’ She frowned at him at his glance. ‘You don’t normally spend as much time up here. You don’t normally spend as much time _frowning_.’

‘What,’ drawled Graham, ‘I’m usually the life and soul of the party?’

Her look was impatient. ‘You can keep me out of this all you want. I still watch.’

‘Watching never hurts. I keep one eye on everything.’

They returned home under the crowing of a distant bird, a black silhouette sweeping under clouds overhead. The grey stones of the tower were a sentinel against the wind and all invaders from across the seas it might bring, though even from down here he could see gapped patches in the roofs and far walls, the parts of the building they never used any more. His father had wanted to see the place repaired, restored to past glories, but there had never been the money or the need. The family was not big, and they had not played host to the village in maybe a century. But every time they came home he saw Randal flinch at this standing memorial of how times past had gone rotten and hollow, and remembered seeing his father flinch in kind, when he had been too young to understand why.

Enchanted fires warmed the whole tower even as they crackled only in the main hall, though such a term invoked images of grounds as large as Hogwarts when the Mulcibers had nothing so grand to boast. A long, sturdy oak table could seat ten, but elbows would be crammed close together and House Elf Bardey would have to duck under arms and occasionally chairs to serve plates. But it had been a long time since they had entertained one guest, let alone filled a table. Even when Randal had the Slytherins over they would make for the privacy of the sitting room.

So curiosity made way for biting apprehension once Bardey took their outer robes and Madeline led Graham in to see Professor Drust Drake sat at the dining table across from his mother.

Sybilla Mulciber rose as her children arrived, and Graham could see the edges of her smile, like it would peel off under too much heat. ‘Lin, you found him. Graham, please sit, dinner will be soon.’

Graham stared at Drake. ‘I’ve been out in the wind, I should change.’

‘You look perfectly presentable,’ his mother blurted, and then he stopped, heard the unspoken message. ‘I’ve kept the professor waiting on our hospitality as it is.’

He looked to his sister to find her gaze just as studied, and knew he had no choice. He pulled up a chair next to Drake so Madeline could sit next to their mother, and fought for his most neutral, polite, impersonal voice and face. They were familiar and comfortable by now. ‘I didn’t know we’d have the pleasure of your company, professor.’

‘I had intended to visit at some time,’ said Drake calmly, long fingers wrapped around the pewter goblet Bardey had seen was well-filled. ‘After conversations with Randal this term it seemed right to reopen connections with the family.’

‘Reopen?’ blurted Madeline.

‘Professor Drake was a friend of your father’s,’ said their mother in the same tone as an admonishment for them to scrape off their boots after walking through mud.

‘And I was very sorry to hear of his passing,’ said Drust Drake, whom Graham had never seen before that September, and certainly not at his father’s funeral.

‘Thank you,’ said Sybille, ever the courteous host, but then salvation from more empty pleasantries came by the arrival of Randal. His robes were pure black and very fine, finer than Graham thought he should reasonably afford, but they strained at his shoulders and he did not stay on his feet long, crossing the room only to shake Drake’s hand before taking the seat to which he had long presumed at the head of the table.

‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting,’ said Randal, all smooth courtesies. ‘But I’m very glad you could make it in the end, Professor.’

The professor’s stony features barely shifted, the faint smirk more like a trick of the firelight on a sculpture than a reflection of true emotion. ‘I was so very heartened when we spoke last week, Randal. But a blessing of my work at Hogwarts is that I can, after so long under the Ministry’s intolerant eye, finally get to know the _respectable_ families again.’

‘I confess, I wouldn’t know so well who the respectable families _are_ , not any more,’ said Sybilla, all cool politeness. ‘We keep much to ourselves here.’

‘You keep yourselves admirably remote,’ said Drake, ‘even for our kind.’

Graham shifted his weight. ‘It’s the way of our family. This is home, and there’s little reason for us to wander. Father was eager to return whenever he could.’

‘We keep,’ said Randal quickly, ‘to many of the old ways here. Even the local Muggles do.’

‘The Statute remains.’ Graham pushed his goblet to one side to let Bardey fill it; on an occasion such as this there had been an unspoken signal for wine from their mother. ‘Of course. But there has been an undeniable impact from us upon their traditions, their superstitions.’

‘They remember us.’ Randal’s forced satisfaction was almost palpable. ‘Even if they don’t realise _what_ they’re remembering.’

Drust Drake gave a long, slow nod, as if weighing and measuring their words. He straightened. ‘They still know to fear, without knowing what they must fear. There is still respect from them for this place, and the family. Good. His Lordship would be pleased to know such.’

Graham had to drink from the goblet to hide his expression, struck thrice by realisations as he was. He had spent these weeks not paying Drake much attention, now a plain misjudgement. Not only his own, for if Saul had seen much value in the man as anything other than a sympathetic educator, he would have sidled up beside him much more plainly. But Randal had seen something he had not: namely, that Drust Drake was connected far better than the professor had been inclined to let most people realise. The second realisation was that with this simple invitation, Randal had dragged them closer into the circles of the Cause than they had moved as a family since before their father’s death, and much had changed in the Cause since then.

The third was the strangest, for Randal lunging upon coattails to exploit a figure of importance in the Cause was no true surprise, even if Graham had not expected it to be Drake. But what he had never anticipated was the steely set to his mother’s eyes, the thin line of her lips, where for all her masks and all her discipline he could see the truth of it. Randal had dragged them closer to the Cause, and for some reason Sybilla Mulciber wanted none of it.

§

‘ _I_ _’m just a man and I am what I am -_ ’

Black Sabbath had barely made it through the opening line of the second song on the album before Sirius’ door burst open. It took all his focus to not leap up from the windowsill, to instead remain lounged there, indolent, cigarette smoke wafting out the crack in the window.

‘Mum and Dad have been gone _five minutes_!’ Regulus exclaimed.

‘You know…’ Sirius glanced across his bedroom at his brother, and took another drag of the cigarette. ‘This album really isn’t up to scratch so far.’

‘This - what -’ Regulus realised then he meant the music, and scowled at the record player on the floor. ‘Dad’s going to go spare if he sees that.’

‘Dad goes spare if he sees _me_. It might as well happen with cool background music.’

‘ _Sirius_.’

He groaned and tapped out ash into the chipped china mug he’d filched from the kitchen, before Kreacher could throw it out. It could have been repaired, of course, but their mother had decided one chipped cup was an excuse to buy a whole new set. It wasn’t the _fine_ china after all, the stuff with the family crest on the side. Sirius would have paid good money to turn one of those into an ashtray, but even he couldn’t get past Kreacher for that. ‘They’re gone. They’re not going to hear Black Sabbath from the Avery house. Are you just sad you didn’t get to have a playdate with Saul? Aren’t you sick of his little rat face at Hogwarts?’

‘I don’t need to butter up Saul more.’ Regulus folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m a Quidditch player, he _loves_ me, and so long as I stay on the team he’ll be eating out of my hand once Randal leaves and -’ His nose wrinkled as he realised he’d said more than intended. ‘I _mean_ , do you really have to be so blasted quick to show off what an outsider you are? You couldn’t let the Floo go _cold_ before stropping around rebelliously?’

‘I,’ said Sirius, resting his head back against the wall, ‘am not _stropping_ rebelliously. I am _chilling_ rebelliously. I might, if the song calls for it, do some headbanging rebelliously. You could join me. It might do you good. Might let some independent thought creep in there if you’re not focusing on crawling up Crouch’s arse for five seconds.’

‘Just like you have _all_ independent thoughts and not at _all_ thoughts from Potter?’

 _If all my thoughts were from James, I_ _’d be swapping the Carrows’ salt for sugar every damn day and arguing with every point Drake makes in class._ As it was, he still preferred to hex Snape around a corner and make jokes in Defence so Remus’s head didn’t explode big enough to blast them all into orbit. He just shrugged.

‘You’re impossible,’ huffed Regulus.

‘And you, darling brother, should be far too smart to follow in the footsteps of the likes of Crouch and Avery and _Mulciber_ , but here we are.’

‘I don’t - can you turn that bloody music off, I can’t hear myself think!’

‘That’s fine.’ Sirius took a drag of his cigarette. ‘You’re not doing it for yourself anyway.’

He didn’t hear Regulus’ reply, but he did hear the door slam behind him. And then he could close his eyes and let himself dip and fall into the thudding beats of the music. Getting the album had been a mission; first a trip to Diagon Alley to exchange his money for Muggle cash, then trying to find his way to the record store _on foot_ because while he could involve himself in Muggle music all day, no power was great enough to make him brave Muggle public transport. The quest had seen him home late last night, getting the glares of his mother and sardonic comments of his father, so he’d not dared, despite it all, to put it on until they’d gone out this afternoon.

But it was over too soon, and wasn’t their best album, and then his parents were back and he had to satisfy himself with only reading in his room to stay out of their way. He’d happily _sing_ Muggle music around them, but anything physical they could get their hands on, like Muggle books or magazines or _especially_ records and his record player would get Vanished quicker than he could blink. Sirius Black had learnt, as he felt neither James nor Evans had learnt, that rebels needed to pick their battles if they wanted to actually carry on rebelling. Going the whole hog right out of the gate led to a short drop and a sharp stop and other mixing of metaphors which all led to a very dim fate indeed.

Dinner was its usual torrid affair. Kreacher gave the begrudging summons at the door, and Sirius made sure to undo a few of the buttons at the neck of his shirt, because there were _some_ rebellions that didn’t end too soon and he felt he might as well irritate and disappoint his parents on his own terms. Overcooked beef and wilted vegetables awaited him at a dining table laid out with, he felt, needless pomp and circumstance for a family meal the like of which they’d have more or less every night this wretched fortnight, so he kept his head down and ate without comment as the other three chattered about society and the people of their acquaintance he’d run screaming from at age eleven.

Until his father, halfway through a tirade about Aldus Nott’s latest investments, said, ‘at least they’re doing better than the Averys, who frankly need to have a word with Elric Bulstrode at the DMLE if they don’t want another _embarrassment_ like last year,’ and looked up at both of his sons with a pointed gaze even Sirius couldn’t ignore. ‘I assume that passed neither of you by at school.’

Sirius blinked, for once genuinely unsure what was going on instead of being intentionally awkward, but Regulus quickly swallowed a bean sprout and nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, Dad. We try to not pay the silly rumours any mind -’

‘You mean _you_ pay silliness little mind,’ Orion Black mused. ‘But there’s meat to these rumours, which I dare say you know, Regulus. These papers I’ve heard of going around Hogwarts aren’t just lies and fiction. Someone’s been letting their lips flap and it’s going to do absolutely nobody any good. Ignore silly rumours, my boy, but this is a _leak_ , and leaks like these have legs.’

‘That’s going to need a hell of a plumber,’ Sirius muttered into his roast beef.

‘By which I _mean_ ,’ pressed on their father, ‘that when things like this happen you mustn’t only pay attention to know what’s happening to those close to you. The Averys were very careless to let this happen, and there will be consequences, I dare say. It’s good to know who to be too close to, or to know when or how you can or should _help_. But look to yourself when gaps and leaks like this occur.’

‘You mean _we_ might have sprung a nasty little leak?’ said Sirius with a smirk.

‘I dare say if you knew anything unsavoury about the family it would have been plastered across the halls of Hogwarts in bright, shining lights, with nobody doubting your responsibility,’ sneered his father. ‘At least the one responsible for this _Gutters_ issue has the sense to not sign their name to it.’

‘Yes,’ said Sirius, ‘it’s just as well I’m not properly a member of the family, to know all the horrid things you get up to and discuss and plan when you go over to places like the Avery house.’

Orion set down his wine glass and for a moment, Sirius wondered if he’d gone too far. But then his mother was speaking, her croon soft enough to let him know something was _really_ up, because she normally reserved only the most biting and acid of tones for him. ‘We’re actually,’ she said, ‘rather pleased with you these past few months, Sirius.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘You are?’

A slice of carrot fell off Regulus’ fork. ‘You _are_?’

‘Of course.’ Walburga Black gave a smile that wouldn’t melt ice. ‘The Averys were very frank about how Hogwarts has been; I’m sure Saul tells them everything, the dear. It’s sounding like matters are getting _quite_ out of hand, doesn’t it, dear?’

Orion smiled at the prompt, and suddenly Sirius was even less hungry for sub-par beef. ‘The administration and leadership there truly is _shocking_ ,’ his father said, ‘letting students spiral out of control like this. Fights in the hallway? Inappropriate music piped into the Great Hall by misbehaving Mudbloods to make some paltry point?’

‘Exactly,’ said Walburga. ‘The Mudbloods have decided it’s time to prove everyone exactly right, that they can’t be expected to behave in a way remotely appropriate for an establishment as respectable as Hogwarts - or as Hogwarts _used_ to be, it’s been going quite downhill…’

Regulus worked his jaw wordlessly for a moment. ‘But - but how does this mean you’re pleased with _Sirius_?’

She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. In the corner of the dining hall, the grandfather clock ticked its way through every hateful second Sirius had to spend before the holidays were over. ‘Why,’ said his mother at last, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world, ‘Sirius has been so terribly well behaved this term, hasn’t he? The Mudbloods are near-rioting and there’s been no word of trouble from Sirius, no sign of him acting out alongside them.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Orion, smiling. ‘We’d feared that in Gryffindor you’d find yourself convinced that their rambunctious ways were _acceptable_. Your conduct the last few years has worried me, son, that you might think there’s some value in lashing out against your peers. I know you want to stand alone, on your own two feet, but I’m very pleased you appear to be levelling out as you grow up. You’re not letting the Mudbloods around you fill your head with ideas, the way James Potter’s head seems to be filled.’

‘Well, you can’t expect anything different, not with how the Potters have been turning out these past generations,’ sighed his mother, and then they were off, lamenting how so many of the great old families couldn’t be counted on _properly_ any more.

But Sirius just stared at his parents, roast dinner turning to ash in his mouth and stomach. His father continued to prattle on as he ever did, oblivious - but then he had sounded genuine in his comments, as if truly believing Sirius’ stance against them over the years was a teenage phase coming to an end as the world darkened and lines became drawn more clearly in the sand. His mother, however, had too much smirk to her smile, too much glint in her eyes; she _knew_ he’d take her words as an insult.

Considering he’d pleased them by doing nothing but what he thought was best - doing nothing but what he _wanted_ \- he wasn’t sure which of them made him hate himself more.

§

The phone rang and rang in her ear and only after Lily had counted a full sixty seconds with no pickup did she put it down.

Petunia stood in the door to the kitchen, nose wrinkled. ‘You’re _always_ on the phone. I come all this way and it’s _Christmas Eve_ and you can’t get off the phone.’

Lily stared at her sister. ‘I was on the phone for _literally_ a minute. I’ve barely talked to anyone all holiday so far. But _you_ spent half an hour last night on the phone to your friend in London. You didn’t even wait for dinner to be over before you -’

‘If you two are going to bicker,’ said their father, not tearing his gaze from the television, ‘then please don’t do it _over_ the Marx Brothers.’

Lily wilted as she turned her attention back to _A Night at the Opera_. ‘Do we _have_ to watch this?’

‘Yes,’ said Stephen Evans. ‘I’m not watching that rubbish on BBC1. _This_ is _art._ ’

They fell silent at that, knowing how to pick their battles, and Petunia finished delivering the cups of tea. Lily found herself fifteen minutes later still having not touched it, and before she knew it, her hand was back on the telephone handset.

‘Do you _have_ to?’ snapped Petunia.

‘I don’t -’ Lily grimaced, catching herself. ‘I just haven’t heard from one of my friends. He said he’d call. Or he said he’d pick up. He’s not done either for a couple days.’

‘Oh,’ sighed her sister. ‘ _Boy_ trouble. Is that more worthy of your attention?’

‘It’s not about _boys_ , Petunia, it’s about -’ _Life or death_. But she couldn’t explain _why_ not hearing from Jack in the last two days after daily contact since she’d got back was cause for concern, not without letting on far more information than she was prepared for her father to have. He knew there were tensions, but she had no interest in making Stephen aware that a Muggle-born had been abused and tortured and the school had been powerless to take action.

And yet she’d come up with this idea of staying in contact for a reason, and Jack had dropped completely off the map.

So she stayed silent and didn’t touch her tea, and the knot of concern that had been building for days only tightened itself. Perhaps it was the disapproval of Petunia that left her more tense, her sister’s disparagement of a system designed to save skins. Perhaps the days had been adding up. Perhaps the fact that Christmas was looming and not only was Jack silent, but nobody at his home was picking up was too much. Yesterday she’d talked to a stiff, Cockney-accented woman who just said tonelessly that Jack was ‘out’ and gave no elaboration on where, or if he’d be back, and even if Jack _was_ returning she couldn’t trust her messages were being passed on.

It was Christmas Eve. He should have been at home. _Someone_ should have been at home.

 _If his family are picking up and saying he_ _’s just out, not dead in a ditch, then he’s_ fine _, he_ _’ll be out on the estate. That’s what people do in London, isn’t it?_

But being at home was also firing other signals through her, memories of when there were four people, not three, sat around the television, and something in the nerves in Lily’s gut reminded her of old, aching fears. Such was the spin of logic and fear that churned through her until the movie was over, and whatever came on next was much less to her father’s interest and could only fill the time until _Are You Being Served?_ was on at half seven. It meant she could ignore Petunia’s pointed look and ring Jack’s number again.

Still no answer.

‘His family might be out, love,’ said Stephen soothingly. ‘I’m sure it’s fine. You don’t need to talk to your friends every day.’

‘I really do,’ muttered Lily, and picked up the handset to move out into the hallway so she could ring the next number she’d already memorised by dialling it so often.

‘Oh, he’s probably _fine_ ,’ insisted Dory’s crackly voice down the line once she’d been fussed at for the fifth time that week. ‘You know him, he’s tough.’

‘But he’s not _irresponsible_. He said he’d call, and he hasn’t. And he’s not picked up, he’s not been home the last couple days - why hasn’t he been _home_ , Dory?’

Dory’s sigh was long, and the silence afterwards longer. ‘He’s not from your kind of place, Lily. I don’t know what Jack gets up to on holiday, but I don’t think he sits around in a nice living room enjoying TV and tea with the family.’

‘ _I_ don’t enjoy TV and tea with the family,’ Lily said wryly. ‘Or, not Petunia. But I’m serious.’

‘I know. But you’ll see, he’ll be at the Hogwarts Express right as rain next week.’

‘Except what’s the bloody point of this system if all I do when someone doesn’t get in touch is worry?’

‘What’re you _supposed_ to do, Red? Contact Magical Law Enforcement and say your working class Muggle-born known-troublemaker friend hasn’t been answering your phone calls for a couple of days? Yeah, they’ll get _right_ on that.’

 _They would if a wizard-born kid had dropped out of contact_. Lily bit her lip. ‘They won’t care, no.’

‘So this is it, unless you’re going to marching down Peckham after dark on Christmas Eve looking for him -’ Dory stopped herself, and Lily thought it testament to how close they’d got over the last three months that Dory didn’t needed to see her expression to be brought up short. ‘ _No_ , Red.’

‘I won’t be wandering around the estate,’ said Lily, excitement bubbling in her at the prospect of actually being able to _do_ something. ‘I have his address, I can go to his flat - and if it’s _fine_ , Dory, it’ll be all of a half-hour trip with the Knight Bus.’

‘I - you’re crazy paranoid, you know that? He’s going to laugh at you.’

Lily tightened her grip on the handset. ‘I hope so. Look, Dory, I’ll call you when I know everything’s okay, okay? It’s only just six now, I’ll head on out, and if you haven’t heard from me by -’ She stopped, unsure of time, unsure of what _Dory_ could do. ‘I’ll call you by nine.’

‘Lily, this is crazy.’

‘Good _bye_ , Dory.’ She slammed down the handset and turned to the living room door to see both Petunia and her father.

‘What _are_ you talking about?’ Petunia snapped, hands on her hips. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and you’re rushing off to go and see some - some _boy_ -’

‘Don’t even _start_.’ Lily’s lip curled. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about, absolutely _no idea_.’

‘No, because none of us _normal_ people could ever understand the precious things that precious Lily gets up to.’

‘He’s my _friend_ and - and I don’t have time for this, I have to go.’ Jaw tight, Lily started for the stairs.

Then her father’s voice rang out, low and firm. ‘No.’

She stopped short. ‘Dad -’

‘Petunia’s right. It’s Christmas Eve. Whatever this is, it can wait - it can wait until Monday, if needs be, or you can go back down to London with Petunia or see your friend then, though I’d rather you didn’t go alone -’

‘By Monday or even _Wednesday_ it could be too late, Dad.’

‘Too late for _what_ , for gossip and catchup? You spent the last three months with these people,’ said Stephen, arms folded across his chest. ‘You can spend these three days with your family. Lord knows we get too little time together as it is.’

‘It’s not like that, Dad, this isn’t a social call…’

‘That’s exactly what it sounds like -’

‘Because _that_ _’s what I tell you_!’ Her voice echoed around the hall and back in her face and Lily knew, with that shout, that she’d delivered the first hammer blow to the glass case of illusions and white lies with which she’d surrounded her family. Her chest was heaving as Stephen and Petunia continued to stare at her, and she knew she had to press on, fill the crack before they tried putting the obliviousness back together. ‘That’s what I tell you. That everything’s fine at school, that I have friends, that we do little magic tricks and everything’s _nice_. You know it’s not true, both of you; you knew it wasn’t true when they wouldn’t help Mum.’

Petunia’s lips thinned. ‘You said your precious magic _couldn_ _’t_ help -’

‘The magical world is a _lot_ more complicated than you think, than I _let_ you think,’ Lily pushed on, because she’d not meant to spill that about her mother, not really. ‘We talked about it days ago! They hate me. They hate _us_ , they hate everyone who came from _this_ world and they think we’re _invading_ their world. They hate us and they’re _fighting_ us.’ She looked at her father, the man who had fought in a war for freedom and against tyranny, and silently begged him to understand. ‘It’s not like there are battles, not how you’re thinking. But they want to wipe us out, and they’re trying. In the streets, and they’re trying to get us in school but - but they can’t.’ That, for now, was a necessary extra white lie. ‘So I was afraid they’d come after us _out_ of school, where if they found us we’d be less safe, so my friends - so _all_ Muggle-borns would stay in touch with each other so we’d know if something was wrong, and Jack’s not got in touch so _something_ _’s wrong_!’

Petunia’s eyes were wide, but her father’s expression barely changed. At last he took a deep breath. ‘I think we need to sit down and talk about this -’

‘No,’ snapped Lily.

Stephen’s shoulders squared and his voice took on that military timbre of ages past. ‘ _Lily_ , it is not acceptable for you to rush off at night on Christmas Eve, _alone_ , with no explanation -’

‘I have _explained_ it, Dad, as best I can without taking hours, and I might not _have_ hours. I’ve waited too _damn_ long as it is. This is the explanation you get. We can talk about this later, we can argue about this later, but right now, I’m leaving, and I’m going to find my friend.’ She turned for the stairs, where waited her winter clothes and her books and her _wand_. ‘And you can’t stop me.’


	28. Anarchy in the City

_It's coming sometime and maybe_   
_I give a wrong time stop at traffic line_   
_Your future dream is a shopping scheme_   
_\- Anarchy in the UK, The Sex Pistols (1976)_   
__

Frozen wind whipped at Lily’s hair the moment she descended the Knight Bus onto the quiet London street, plunged into a winter’s night this Christmas Eve. Even the wizard conductor had given her a funny look when the bus had come crashing into the Cokeworth road at the flick of her wand, and an even funnier look when she’d said her destination.

Peckham. The Old Kent Road had been suggested, and Lily’s heart had sunk when she’d realised she knew the name best from Monopoly. That, a dog-eared old AA road map she’d scavenged out of her father’s car, and the hurriedly scribbled address Jack had given her in case she got the use of an owl, were all she had to guide her. She wished she’d stopped to call Dory, who _had_ to have picked up Jack before the McKinnon party in August and had to know _where_ , but that would have likely led to an argument Lily could ill afford.

She’d had enough already.

Her coat came tighter around her as the Knight Bus trundled off into the gloom, sliding impossibly between two of the few cars out at this time, and then slipped without ceremony out of view. The coat did a good deal to fight the chill, thick and woollen as it was, but brought with it a pang of guilt. Ignoring her father’s calls, she’d raided her bedroom for what she deemed necessary supplies for what would hopefully only be a few hours’ trip to London, and had immediately realised she didn’t own a Muggle winter coat that fit her properly. Asking Petunia sounded the definition of insanity, and there was only one other source of women’s clothes in the house: her mother’s wardrobe.

So she tromped down the Old Kent Road with a wand up her sleeve, winter boots heavy on her feet, Gryffindor House scarf wrapped around her neck, clad in her mother’s old WRNS coat. It was enough to remind her she’d never stopped to ask her mother much about the War, assumed she’d always have time for stories of her past exploits, in the navy and otherwise. But, for now, it would keep her warm, and it wouldn’t do to let herself linger on thoughts of past loss.

She had to avoid present loss. She had to find Jack.

Despite her apprehension, it wasn’t difficult to find her destination. Walking down the night-clad street and trying to be discreet in consulting her map had her going the right direction, and soon enough the three blocks of council flats some roads over shot out towards the starry sky like sore thumbs. About twenty storeys high when the next highest building nearby was a mere five, Lily had to wonder what genius of city planning had thought of this, then remembered the intention was to just get people under a roof, even if it wasn’t pretty.

It definitely wasn’t pretty. She left the main road to pick her way past a terrace where any fence in the front yard had been broken down, debris and abandoned furniture dumped onto concrete in front of the house. Graffiti marred every surface, some mere crude scrawls affirming existence, some swirling pieces of street art that lent colour and life to the sea of brown and grey around her. Some, yet, elicited a faint thrill, like the simple spray of ‘I FOUGHT THE LAW’ above her as she passed under the train bridge, and then she was onto the estate.

A pack of youths lounged at broken bike ranks out front of what she hoped was the right block of flats, all denim jackets, high boots, and skinned heads. One whistled sharply at her approach, while another straightened and called, ‘Y’alright?’ in that particularly pointed tone of a boy more interested in declaring his presence than initiating a dialogue. Lily spotted the ‘NF’ graffitied onto the wall behind them, and picked up the pace to hurry inside without making eye contact.

The lift rattled on the way to the twelfth floor and the corridor boasted the sweet stench of piss and weed, and it was with relief that she returned to the cold for the external covered walkway to find the right flat. A first rap on the door went unanswered. The second resulted in some shuffling from inside but no response; the third, at last, elicited a cough and a gruff, ‘Alright!’ that had her step back from the door and wait with her wand ready to slip into her hand.

She’d gone over this in her head. She wasn’t seventeen for another month, and didn’t doubt she’d have to present an airtight case to the Ministry if she wanted to claim a justified use of underage magic. But if she found _real_ trouble, Ministry be damned. She hoped real trouble wasn’t going to come as soon as Jack’s flat.

_He might be there. He might be home, he_ _’s just got distracted, and we’ll laugh about it and I’ll go home and all will be well._

The woman who yanked open the door had to be in her fifties, with dark, lank hair that hung around a long, sallow face. The grimy appearance stood in stark contrast to the white nurse’s uniform she wore, but Lily’s was snapped sharply from the recollections this elicited by the gruff, ‘Whaddya want?’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly here, Lily felt rather silly. ‘Is Jack in?’

A cough. ‘No.’

‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’

A shrug. ‘Some time. Just try later.’

The woman Lily assumed to be Jack’s mother went to close the door, and Lily had to step forward. ‘It’s important I see him.’

‘I doubt it.’

This time, Lily had to shove her foot in the doorway, and was glad she’d worn her thick boots when Jack’s mother tried to shut the door on it. ‘I’m a friend of his,’ she said, trying to sound as even and measured, ‘from school.’

Now the woman hesitated. ‘Yeah? What school?’

There was a test in the slurring words, so Lily let her first reply of, ‘Hogwarts,’ ring out loud enough to cause Jack’s mother to give a quick, furtive look up and down the abandoned walkway. Then Lily dropped her voice. ‘School of witchcraft and wizardry, so _please_ stop _pissing about_ and tell me where I can find Jack?’ She hadn’t _meant_ to snap, but the cold, at least, was getting to her.

Jack’s mother hesitated, and let the door drift open again. The gloomy interior of a council flat lurked in the space behind her, a disaster of cheap beige. ‘He’s not been around much the last couple days. Staying out all hours. It’s ‘is ‘oliday, though, innit, he can do what he likes. Always did.’ She lit a cigarette, the smell of nicotine joining the stenches of cheap cramped living all around. ‘So, dunno when he’ll be back.’

‘Do you know where he is _now_? Is he with someone? Someone’s house?’

A look crossed the woman’s face which confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt she was related to Jack; a sort of stubborn hesitation where Lily knew on Jack meant he was thinking about being awkward for the bitter sake of it. Then she seemed to remember she was dealing with a witch, and sighed. ‘He’ll be in the park,’ she said at last, and shuffled out into the night air to point over the side of the walkway at one patch of darkness in the sea of golden London lights. ‘It’s where ‘is mob hangs out. There ain’t no trouble, is there?’

‘That,’ said Lily, ‘is what I want to find out. Thank you.’

She took the other exit from the block of flats, even if that meant going the long way around to where she thought Jack’s mum had pointed. The most direct route did not seem the best; more people were spilling out onto the streets, and she made sure to cross the road to the opposite side of the raucous pub on the way. Worst of all was when she got to the park, all she saw at first was a grimy, patchy metal fence, and then only darkness and grass beyond. This was more a patch of greenery in a sea of council tenements; Kensington Park it was not.

Her heart sank. She was alone, in the middle of south London, with no real idea of where she was going or why, and no _real_ idea if anything was wrong. Worse, if it _was_ , she had little chance of finding the right sort of trouble, and a hell of a good chance of finding the absolute _wrong_ sort of trouble. She’d plunged from a world of school tensions and magical conflicts into the underbelly of one of London’s worst sink estates, surrounded by skinheads who left her with the distinct impression they were as likely to mug her as politely help her on her way.

She stopped short. ‘Oh, _piss_.’

To her left and further into the darkness of the park, shadows she’d thought to just be parts of the kids’ playground moved, and her heart leapt into her throat. She spotted the drift of cigarette smoke in the air, and heard, amongst the low, deep murmurs, a girl’s voice. While this was no precaution against getting the shit kicked out of her and her purse stolen, it was _something_ at least.

_Come on, Lily. You can_ _’t throw a tantrum at your family and Dory and rush off to London only to turn around and come home the moment the situation gets moderately challenging._

Wondering if being mugged and stuffed under a roundabout to be found by a disinterested Metropolitan Police when they bothered to investigate four days later was ‘moderately challenging,’ Lily headed over, hands in her pockets all the better to keep a grip on her wand, and approached the shapes the darkness was kind enough to shift and let her see were four gloomy figures.

‘Good evening,’ she said, knowing she was never going to get away with blending in with her accent and this somehow driving her to become all the more middle class in her surrender. ‘I was wondering if you could please help me; I’m looking for someone.’

A tall, lanky shape peeled itself off where it had lounged against the swing frame. ‘Yeah?’ It was a dull grunt, apprehensive and uninterested, guarded but not, Lily reasoned, telling her to fuck off _yet_.

‘A friend of mine, he’s -’

‘ _Lily_?’ One of the figures sat on the roundabout jumped to their feet, and Lily could have wept with relief when she drew closer to recognise Jack, clad in his big leather jacket, dumbstruck. ‘Fuck are _you_ doing here?’

Having come all this way, past skinheads and the darkness and his mother in a totally unfamiliar city in the freezing cold, this was _not_ the reaction she’d hoped for. ‘You didn’t call!’ she protested, hands on her hips.

‘What…’ Jack took a drag on his cigarette, brow furrowed. ‘Oh. Guess I didn’t, at that.’

The girl she’d heard, who’d been sat next to Jack on the roundabout, muttered, ‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me.’

‘We had an arrangement,’ Lily told Jack, ignoring her. ‘We’d check in with each other _every day_ -’

‘It didn’t _really_ need to be _every day_ , now, did it -’

‘It was, because if I waited until school started again and you’d been silent all that time and something _happened_ , then it’d be too late, wouldn’t it?’

‘Fucking hell.’ The lanky boy by the swings straightened. ‘Didn’t know you’d got yourself a posh girlfriend at posh school, Jack.’

‘I’m not his girlfriend,’ snapped Lily. ‘I’m -’ _I_ _’m here to find out if he’s been murdered by wizard supremacists_. That might count as a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. She gave Jack a pointed look. ‘Can we talk?’ Both index fingers pointed angrily off to one side.

He followed, but she saw him look back at his friends and give a big, broad, _she_ _’s crazy_ shrug, heard the girl give a low call of, ‘Oooooh,’ that still made her skin crawl, and by the time they were a distance where they could talk discreetly and he was looking at her like she’d taken too many Bludgers to the head, she honestly could have hexed him right there and then. ‘There was a _reason_ for the system!’

‘An’ I just -’ Jack waved a hand. ‘I lost track of time. Look, sorry. But it’s fine. You should go.’

‘That’s it? I come all this way, I walk past a pack of fucking _Nazi skinheads_ and deal with your entirely unwelcoming mother, only to be told - after _two days_ of you not calling, not being in when I call - that it’s _fine_ , you _lost track of time_ , and I should _go_?’

He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. ‘I’m just hanging out with my mates, it’s no big deal.’

‘Hanging - it’s Christmas Eve, Jack.’

‘Yeah? An’ you think, what, I spend Christmas singing Kumbaya ‘round the telly with my family?’

‘Well, no, because I’m not sure anyone does that around the _fucking television_ , but do you really think _I_ came down here on a whim?’

He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Sorry. Really am. Look, I’ll see you next week, right?’

She gaped at him. ‘Do you know what I had to - do you know the _row_ I had with my family, with Dory, over doing this -’ And she’d overreacted. He was fine, he was just being a _boy_ \- or worse, nobody really cared as much about her plan to stay in touch. They’d liked the rhetoric and the passion, but when push came to shove people were too indifferent, too apathetic to get really organised, even if it was for their own good.

If it _was_ for their own good. And wasn’t just Lily Evans jumping at shadows, making the bogeymen in their corridors invade their homes, building up everything to be so much more than it was so, ironically, she could claim a modicum more control over it. Act like she was doing something about it. Pretend like she was making a difference.

The whole thing was a farce, and even her closest friends thought she was being crazy.

She took a step back, the stench of disinfectant somehow back in her nostrils. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I just thought - I’ll go get the Knight Bus back…’

His face creased. ‘Lily…’

She turned away. ‘I’ll see you next week.’ Then she was going, stalking away from the playground, back towards the roads where she could call the Knight Bus and get back to Cokeworth and deal with the fallout with her family over what was ultimately _nothing_ , over what had just been in her head because it was easier to _pretend_ that she could do something.

She was so caught up in her shame and embarrassment that she didn’t take the exact same route back, down the well-lit path. Instead she headed for the first sign of road she could see, which meant popping between two high metal fences beside a metal scrapyard, sliding into the gloom and far away from Jack and this part of the world that felt like it bristled at her touch.

When a shadow crossed the way ahead of her, she stopped and silently cursed her own stupidity for walking down a perfect route to get mugged. Then she felt the icy chill that was more than winter.

Even though she’d never felt this before, she knew in her bones what it was. No book could encapsulate this feeling; frozen waters rushing under her skin, flesh turning to ice, hairs all over her body rising in warning, and inside, deep inside, the darkest corners of her calling, calling.

 _Dementor_.

Her wand slid into her hand with the echo of her sister’s sobs; she took a stumbling step back, winded as the moments she’d opened every Ministry letter refusing her mother magical medical aid. And then the shadow slid down the alleyway towards her, ominous as the echoing footsteps as that doctor had emerged from a hospital room, face like granite and bone…

‘ _Expe_ _…_ ’ She couldn’t even finish the incantation, the one she’d only read in books, the one which _Drake_ certainly hadn’t taught anyone, but then the darkness came rushing in, like a black cloud around her mind and limbs and heart.

She ran, but hadn’t stumbled more than a metre the way she’d come before her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to the floor, wrapped in the memory of her father weeping behind a closed door. Shadows crawled across the alleyway, blocking the stench of the city, the colourful graffiti that provided the only light in this estate.  
 __  
 _I don_ _’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her._

She’d come to the city on some foolhardy belief that, again, she could save a friend who didn’t want her, and now she was going to die here.

That was her last thought before the darkness swallowed her whole.

§

‘…going to tell us _what_ _’s_ going on?’

‘An’ why she’s lookin’ _that_ fuckin’ terrible?’

‘And why we can’t _tell_ anyone?’

‘You don’t need to -’

‘Shh, she’s waking up!’

Stale cigarette smoke and sweat were the smells that greeted Lily on her return to consciousness. Then her eyelids opened for the world to swim around her in worn chintz, faded beige, and Jack’s worried face. ‘What the -’

His hands were at her shoulders as she tried to sit up, every inch of her aching like she’d run a marathon on all fours. ‘Easy, Lily, Christ. Scared the shit out of us there. Didn’t know if the bastard had already got you.’

She was lying flat on a battered sofa, the stuffing trying to escape the cushions out the back, in the middle of a faded, dirty living room. It wasn’t Jack’s flat, she thought, but it didn’t look enormously different. Beyond him were the three youths he’d been at the playground with. A burly boy perched on the windowsill with a cigarette, the lankier one lounged on an armchair, and the girl stood by the wall, hands on hips. None of them looked pleased, and all were definitely rattled.

It was the girl who confirmed that as Lily took all of this in, voice rasped from what already sounded like a hell of a smoking habit. ‘ _What_ bastard, Jack? Fuck’s going on?’

He rose, scowling. ‘Sharon…’

‘Nah, Jack, you hear ghost stories from ‘round the estate an’ then suddenly you’re off playing monster hunter an’ then a mate of yours from _posh school_ shows up before passing out? Spill.’

‘I said you should stay out of this.’

‘An’ you’re in _my_ flat.’ This was the burlier boy, bigger and broader than Jack, youthful dark stubble stretched across his chin. ‘I didn’t sign up to bring in posh birds havin’ a fit of the vapours or some shit.’

For the moment Jack ignored them, turning back to Lily as she sat up more gingerly. ‘Are you alright?’

She scrubbed her face with her hands and took a deep breath. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m all here. Was that what I thought it was?’

‘The fuck,’ snapped Sharon, ‘did you _think_ creepy cold darkness was?’

Jack raised a hand at her. ‘Guys, could you give us a moment -’

The burly boy shot to his feet. ‘You’re in _my flat_ -’

‘Sharon. Taz.’ This was the lankier one who’d sat with his hands clasped in his lap, and spoke much more softly. ‘Let’s have a fag outside. Then let Jack talk.’ With muttered discontent, the other two listened, and shuffled for the door.

‘Thanks, Eddie,’ said Jack, and turned to Lily once the door was shut behind them. ‘Fuck, Lily, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.’

‘Drag me into _what_?’ There was a glass of water on the coffee table, and with some relief Lily drank deep. ‘ _Dementors in Peckham_? Sounds like a shitty horror film.’

‘I didn’t - I wasn’t sure.’ He wrung his hands together, and perched on the armrest next to her. ‘It started just after I got back. People kept saying they saw shit at night on the estate. Weird things. Didn’t know what it was at first, then the other night, Eddie there has a similar run-in to you. Scarpers much quicker, mind. But the description he gave was bang on for a Dementor. Least, it was when I checked my old OWL notes.’ He scratched his nose bashfully. ‘Course, he couldn’t see it. But felt it. This were a couple nights ago.’

‘And you didn’t report it?’ Lily knew how stupid an idea was the moment she said it.

He scoffed. ‘Yeah, Ministry’s going to take a secondhand report from a poor Muggle-born on behalf of a _Muggle_ kid real serious. Look, my mates ain’t stupid. I’ve known ‘em my whole life. They never believed I really won some sort of scholarship from some distant family member to go to posh school. But we just - nobody ever _asked_ , right? An’ I’m lucky it was Eddie, he’s always been smarter than Taz and Sharon. So they’re helping me now, but they’ve not really been asking, not so long as Eddie’s been keeping quiet and trusting me.’

‘Trusting you to do what?’

Jack sighed, and pulled a camera out from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. ‘Get some proof.’

Lily felt her jaw drop. ‘You’ve been _hunting_ a fucking Dementor.’

‘I’ve been _trying_ to get some evidence. I can get these developed myself, got a cupboard for it, I know how to do photos,’ he said defensively, as if this was the only problem with the whole idea. ‘Then I was gonna take them down to the Ministry.’

‘Do you even know if Dementors show up on a Muggle camera? Muggles can’t _see_ them…’

‘I know! But you got a better idea?’

She fell silent. Then, quieter, more hurt than she’d realised now the creeping darkness was gone, ‘Is this why you didn’t call me? Why you’ve been out?’

He looked down at the camera, grimacing. ‘Didn’t think I’d manage to lie to you. And I didn’t want you to worry over something you couldn’t do nothing about. Didn’t think you’d come _down_ here…’

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting _this_ ,’ Lily said honestly. ‘But of course I’m going to try to bloody well help! This is serious - I mean, how did a Dementor even _get_ here?’

‘No clue. Do they breed?’

‘I don’t know. All the books have told us is they were _found_ on Azkaban after the dark wizard who owned the place and did creepy dark magic experiments there died. Created by whatever the hell _he_ did, but I don’t know if they’re unique or some by-product. They seem to live in the darkest bits of the world, anyway, feeding on happiness and hope…’

‘So no idea why they’d come to _Peckham_ ,’ Jack sneered.

‘…revelling in despair, death, decay,’ Lily finished apologetically. ‘It’s possible the state of this place drew one here. No offence.’

‘None taken.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Or maybe a place like this fuckin’ _made_ one. Who bloody knows, maybe you get monsters like this all the time in shitty bits of the world, an’ they don’t go noticed ‘cos what fuckin’ wizard’s gonna care?’

His accent had deepened here, Lily noticed; or perhaps it was just the circumstances. ‘So,’ she said carefully, ‘we’re going Dementor hunting. We get a photo, and then we can go to the Ministry…’

‘ _We_? Lily…’

‘Don’t _Lily_ me,’ she snapped, getting to her feet. She felt a bit wobbly, but anger helped. ‘You’re my friend, and you fobbed me the hell off several times - and also you could do with a pair of eyes which can _see_ the Dementor!’

He stood, shoulders squared, with that trapped animal look about him - except he was pushing back instead of just lashing out. ‘I can’t ask you to risk your neck!’

‘ _You_ _’re_ risking _your_ neck. For the people around you. Because it’s right. Because this is a _wizard_ problem and we’re _wizards_ and otherwise, nobody will care, won’t they? Someone goes missing, someone dies, someone gets Kissed - even the Muggles aren’t going to care _too much_ if it’s the wrong sort of person from Peckham, are they? Send the Dementor down Mayfair and you’ve got a crisis. Send them down the Old Kent Road and if people even care they blame, I don’t know, immigrants.’

Jack squinted. ‘Everything you know about London comes from Monopoly, don’t it.’

‘That’s not the point. Point is, I’m not turning my back on people getting fucked. I don’t do it at school, and I’m not about to start now. And I’m not turning my back on _you_.’ She jabbed him in the shoulder with an accusing finger. ‘Now, what are we telling your friends? Can we get them to just go home?’

‘Like hell.’ Jack sighed. ‘Eddie’s quiet and smart but don’t cross him. He’ll hold a grudge. He wants to see this through. He’ll trust my word if I say it’s done, but he’s going to do all he can along the way. And Taz and Sharon - don’t mind them, they’re just rattled, they’re bellyaching, they’ll come around - but they won’t back out, neither. We’ll have to figure out what to tell them.’

Lily scoffed. ‘The truth.’

‘But -’

‘If they’re going to help us - help us with something happening at _their_ home, on _their_ turf - then what’re we going to do, lie to them so the Ministry that _doesn_ _’t give a shit about them_ isn’t put out? Fuck _that_. They get the truth.’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, if it won’t make things complicated for you.’

But Jack’s eyes were lighting up, and she could only imagine then how hard it had been for him. Her ties to the Muggle world waned and waned, but here he was, even if he was away from his seemingly disinterested family on Christmas Eve, out with friends kept away from him by time, geography, and an enormous lie of omission. For the boy who couldn’t be embraced by the magical world fully for his Muggle heritage, nor by the Muggle world for his magic, permission to be liberated from just one barrier had to be a relief.

He turned to the door. ‘ _Lads_!’

In good order the three came back - Sharon, burly Taz, lanky, quiet Eddie, all still with cigarettes. Taz was frowning. ‘Calls me back into my own flat like a dog,’ he muttered, but shut up as Eddie waved a hand at him.

‘You all good?’ Eddie checked.

Jack nodded. ‘Right. So. Here’s the deal, lads. I’m a wizard. I can do magic, and posh school’s a magic school. S’how I met Lily. She’s a witch.’ He said all of this both very matter-of-fact and very fast, as if it could get its unbelievable nature over and done with. ‘Not supposed to tell you, but like you guessed, the beastie stalking the streets ain’t normal. It’s a Dementor, like a dark wraith thing that’s invisible to non-magic folks and feeds on happiness.’

Sharon arched an eyebrow. ‘So fuck’s it doing in Peckham?’

‘It’s lured in by, ah, decay, despair, dark feelings,’ Lily said awkwardly.

‘ _Ta_ ,’ said Taz, pointedly.

Eddie just gave a stiff nod. ‘Right. So why’re you hunting it? Gonna kill it?’

‘Hell, no.’ Jack hefted the camera. ‘There’s a magic government. Magic coppers. I get a picture, get it to them, and they’ll send down proper people to take care of it.’

‘So,’ Sharon started, ‘I’m supposed to believe not only that _magic_ is real. But that magic coppers give a fuck about Peckham.’

Eddie scoffed. ‘You’d believe Jack if you’d had the run-in I did. An’ I reckon the run-in she had.’ He gave Lily a short nod.

‘Oh, uh - yes. Thank you for helping me,’ said Lily in a rush. ‘And thanks, Taz, for taking me in.’

Taz gave a stiff shrug while Sharon harrumphed. ‘Well, Jack went running off after you all of a sudden and we found you on the ground. So there weren’t much choice.’

‘Still.’

Jack was looking between them, squinting. ‘You believe me?’

‘Honestly,’ Sharon sighed, ‘magic’s more believable than you having some mysterious distant rich relative who could _only_ fork out for fancy fuckin’ boarding school.’

‘Girl’s got a point,’ Taz agreed.

‘We’re with you, mate.’ Eddie folded his arms across his chest, a thin smile on his narrow, sharp face. ‘So, where do we start?’

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t have much of a plan other than walk the streets and if you begin to feel like - like Eddie described, then you give Lily or me a shout.’

‘Wanderin’ the streets?’ Taz looked dubious. ‘There going to be much feeding for that thing on Christmas Eve?’

Lily shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if it’s drawn to despair or happiness.’

‘If it’s in Peckham, let’s go for the first,’ said Sharon.

‘In which case,’ Lily said, ‘is there somewhere here with a lot of history of suffering, or death?’

‘Yeah,’ Taz snorted. ‘We call it the Clayton Estate.’

Eddie sighed. ‘There’s the church on Bellshore Road. Underneath it was turned into a bomb shelter in the War. Except when it’s firebombing and the entrance collapses, not much good, is it? Big disaster where about a hundred people suffocated in the shelter before anyone could get to them.’

‘ _That_ _’s_ why nobody goes to that church no more?’ Jack squinted.

‘It got a bit rebuilt, but nobody wanted to go there, or so my dad told me. Then there was no vicar there, and nobody got around to ripping it down for another bloody block of flats.’ Eddie shrugged. ‘Dunno, maybe it’s haunted, if ghosts exist. Do your monsters care about ghosts?’

‘Ghosts exist, no idea what Dementors make of them.’ Lily bit her lip. ‘It’s a good place to start.’

‘Sure. Good place to start. Good place to go hunting,’ said Jack, zipping up his jacket and turning to the window. All Lily could see of him for a moment were those words emblazoned across his back. _ALL THE HEROES ARE DEAD._


	29. Gone Any Day

_The father heard church bells at midnight_  
 _A wrong time for church bells to chime._  
 _-_ _‘Ringing the Bells for Jim,’ Johnny Cash (1963)_  
  
The church on Bellshore was a distance from Taz’s flat, so Lily gave the tentative suggestion they split up to cover more ground on the way. Jack didn’t like the idea much as they only had one camera, but he’d been overruled by Lily’s argument that the camera was no good if they didn’t _find_ the bloody thing, and the other three had been surprisingly gung-ho. He suspected that magic being real was making a lot of things make sense to them, and then some. Normally the monsters on the estate didn’t have a punchable face, and even if a Dementor didn’t either, there was something practical and physical they could do about it. This was a whole new kind of empowerment unusual for the people of Peckham.

So Jack was heading for Bellshore by a roundabout route with Taz, because he and Lily had to split up to even _see_ the Dementor and it made the most sense to send her with Eddie. Sharon and Taz could bounce off each other and make things worse, so she’d gone with Eddie and Lily, too. Which meant Taz, of course, was griping.

‘D’you think shit like this happens when there _ain_ _’t_ a wizard about? Or are you guys like magnets?’

Jack shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. His leather jacket was thick, but this was ten o’ clock at night on Christmas Eve, and while it wasn’t snowing, frost was forming on the pavements and there was no way he had enough layers on. Punk was sometimes chilly. ‘Dunno.’

‘I mean, sure, Eddie felt something. An’ Eddie ain’t an idiot. An’ _something_ made the girl scream an’ keel over, but seriously, Jack -’

‘You can go home if you think this ain’t nothing,’ Jack growled.

‘I know this is summat. But you gotta give me a break, Jack, it’s _weird_.’

‘I fuckin’ know.’

‘Monsters under the bed and all that shit -’

‘I _know_.’

Taz did stop at the snap. He wasn’t used to Jack snapping; he was used to surly, quiet Jack, who let Eddie do the talking and Taz do the punching, and otherwise had their backs. It had been different when they were at school together. Jack had talked more, stood up more, _done_ more. But then he’d been plucked out of their world and only saw them in the holidays and became the fourth wheel that fell off sometimes. It wasn’t the _same_.

And while Taz was loud and boisterous and liked to push boundaries, he was still his mate. So he shut up and took a drag on his fag before saying, more cheerily, ‘So, this Lily -’

‘It ain’t like that.’

‘Huh. She’s got spunk, though, for a posh bird.’

‘She ain’t _that_ posh.’

‘She sure as shit ain’t fuckin’ south London. Still. Pretty.’

Jack sighed. ‘She’s got a boyfriend. Rich toff.’

‘Bugs you, that?’

‘What, that she’s got a boyfriend or that he’s rich?’

‘Both sound shit.’

‘It ain’t like that.’ Jack tugged his jacket around himself. ‘You know, you can be friends with girls without shagging them. Like Sharon.’

‘ _I_ can be friends with Sharon without shagging her. You, though…’

‘That’s in the past.’

Taz smirked, and tossed his cigarette butt on the pavement, not bothering to stomp it out. The streets were well and truly deserted as they cut round the back of council flats and estates, past darkened corner shops closed long hours ago on Christmas Eve. Lights still shone from windows, Christmas lights shining kaleidoscopic shimmers of colour even down here, and Jack scowled at them. It wasn’t that he wanted to be home; his mum’s shift at the care home was going to carry on to the early hours of the morning and he wasn’t expecting much from tomorrow. But this was still not his idea of a good time.

‘So,’ said Taz, again changing topics, ‘you can do, what, if we see one of these demented things? Blow it up?’

‘Dementors. And nah, that’s advanced magic, taking them down.’

‘But _can_ you blow things up?’

Jack had shoved his wand in an inside pocket. It burned there, forbidden power so close to hand. The only thing worse than this Dementor situation was that if he fucked it up he could get himself expelled in the mix.  ‘I guess. If I got to.’

‘That’s crazy shit, that is. I knew you wouldn’t be off at toff school; I mean, you came back different but not _that_ sort of different. But if Eddie weren’t so solid or I hadn’t felt… I mean, when we went after Lily, that alleyway - it weren’t _right_.’ Taz had started with a cheerful musing on the revelation of magic, but sobered as his recollections drifted to their rescue of Lily.

‘I ain’t never seen one before,’ Jack admitted, jaw tight. He’d heard the scream. Lily didn’t seem to have _realised_ she’d screamed, but she’d not been gone a minute before he’d heard it and set off at a sprint before he knew what was going on. The long run across the park and to the alleyway had felt like a thousand years, but if he’d been slower, he’d have been too late. As it was, he’d felt the cold sink into his bones before he’d got there, and then he’d seen them both at the mouth of the alley: Lily, a crumpled pile on pavement, and the dark, shrouded figure surging from the gloom.

Thank God it hadn’t been fast. Thank God he’d had time to run in and throw Lily over his shoulder while Eddie - quick-thinking, solid Eddie - had sworn in recognition of the sense and thrown his empty beer bottle into the alley. Jack doubted that a Dementor cared about a glass bottle, but the creature had _wavered_. Probably weighing up if it wanted to swap targets, but those seconds were all Jack had needed to grab Lily and run. Taz and Sharon had still been shouting, confused, horrified, feeling the creeping cold of the monster and not understanding it, but they’d sprinted off with him.

Then the feeling had subsided. Every dark thought and dark memory, ever sense of loss and abandonment that had him walking the streets in the cold on Christmas Eve with, by now, nobody to go home to; it would have been enough to break him in half if he hadn’t had better things to think about. Lily. Get to Lily, get her out of there, _run_. Jack didn’t like thinking much, not in dark corners of dark nights. Much better to act first, think later. And, for once, in a dark corner on a dark night, he could _do_ something.

‘I fuckin’ hope you’re right,’ Taz was saying when Jack’s mind snapped back to this narrow, empty street. ‘And your wizard police will do _something_.’

‘So am I,’ Jack muttered. ‘I don’t know if -’

Even if the roads were quiet, they’d still passed people on their wanderings. Pubs weren’t done emptying yet, people still worked late. Just because as many people as possible had bundled into their homes on Christmas Eve didn’t mean the five of them could wander Peckham and not see another soul. So he shouldn’t have stopped when he heard the voices ahead, shouldn’t have had reason to grab Taz by the shoulder and yank him back behind the bins in an alleyway.

‘What’re you -’

‘Shh!’

He’d acted on instinct, but then the voices got clearer as they drew closer, and he realised why. Voices weren’t the problem. Voices with a posh accent _were_. And there were certain posh accents which sounded _different_ ; some like Wick, the sort of shit he expected from someone with a damned title. Then some like they came from their own isolated social circle that sounded not quite like anything from any particular region of the country.

Wizards. Purebloods.

‘…don’t see why we have to act so indirectly.’

‘Then you don’t understand the subtleties of the situation.’ The first voice had been younger, but this one was taut, severe. Both male, both with that arch crispness to their voice Jack recognised from the Slytherins at school. ‘We are here to show them _fear_.’

‘Death can suffice.’

‘Death will. But what manner of death?’ Footsteps rang out on the pavement, and Jack hunkered down, keeping a tight hand on Taz’s arm. ‘An overt attack has its place. But that shows our hand very much. What if, instead, their ilk simply goes _missing_ , or has a mysterious, _unfortunate_ and for all intents and purposes fatal accident? Let the authorities, let the toothless Ministry, say nothing has happened. And let the Mudbloods _know_. If it is obvious, the Ministry will rally to pretend to comfort, protect. If the Ministry _can_ ignore it, though, they shall. And that does not merely terrify. That _isolates_.’

There was a grumble from the younger, and in that moment the two passed the alleyway, scant feet away from the bins and the two boys. Keeping his head down, all Jack could see with as much as he dared to peer were two shadowed, hooded shapes, but he knew the cuts of those clothes, too, and knew robes when he saw them. His breath caught in his throat, and he let it stay there so he didn’t make the slightest sound.

‘This is a lot of fuss,’ the younger Death Eater said as they passed, ‘to deal with a school bicker.’

‘Don’t forget,’ said the elder, voices beginning to fade away, ‘school is where you learn, and they _must_ learn fear…’

‘…and I suppose we have the best of creatures for _fear_ …’

Then the voices faded with distance to murmurs Jack couldn’t make out, and still he stayed put, still he held his breath. Even long moments after they were gone, had to be _far_ gone, he didn’t move, and eventually Taz yanked himself free and stood. ‘The _fuck_ was that?’

Jack clambered upright, legs numb from the crouch. ‘This is - shit, this is _bad_.’

‘That was some _pantomime shit_ -’

‘We gotta go.’ He grabbed Taz by the sleeve again. ‘We gotta get out of here, this ain’t just an accident, this is a fucking _attack_.’

‘ _Who_ _’s_ attacking? _Where_ do we got to go? An’ who’s being attacked?’

 _Me_. Jack swallowed hard. ‘Someone’s _brought_ that fucking monster here,’ he said instead. ‘This ain’t some natural incident. We can bring _this_ in to the wizard cops, tell ‘em this - so we gotta get the others.’ _With Lily_. Lily could talk to the Ministry, Lily could explain this wasn’t just scared kids _thinking_ they saw a Dementor, this was wizards seeing Death Eaters in Muggle streets. They _had_ to listen to this.

Taz didn’t look like he understood or liked any of this, and for a horrible moment Jack thought he was going to be his difficult self. But instead he sighed. ‘Then we better get our arses to meet them at the church, don’t we.’

§

It took this Sharon girl - Lily’s height, Lily’s build, and yet walking with a swagger to fill the street ten times more than Lily could ever hope to - a good ten minutes more than Lily expected before she said, ‘So, you ‘n Jack…’

‘Of course, a girl can’t be just friends with a guy,’ Lily drawled, snippier than she meant because they were down dark roads with shadows crawling at every corner and despite her huge coat she was _cold_ , damn it. ‘There’s got to be some furtive sexual tension.’

Sharon arched an eyebrow. ‘Or furtive shagging.’

Lily sighed. ‘I have a boyfriend. It’s not Jack. He’s a friend.’ Then she spotted Sharon’s shoulders relax very slightly, and understood. To spare her, she looked at Eddie, walking a little ahead of them, an unimposing and completely non-magical figure whose presence was regardless quite comforting. ‘So what happened to you, Eddie?’

‘Huh?’ He didn’t look back as he led the way, striding down the streets like he owned them, wearing the dark and grime and graffiti like a second skin. If she thought Jack sometimes dripped with the roads of his home, he had nothing on Eddie. Taz and Sharon, she’d noticed, walked more like they were immersed in it; Jack, after all these years away, strained against it, straddling both worlds. For Eddie, Peckham was _his_ , and so the threat to Peckham seemed decidedly personal. ‘Oh, the beastie. Ain’t much. Was down Goldsmith on Tuesday, not that late but after dark. Seeing a mate down the scrapyards to see if he had work for me. Course he fuckin’ didn’t, but that’s a different story.’ His shoulders hunched up an inch. ‘Felt it first. I mean, guess it were all feelin’, but first I thought I was just being followed. Hairs on the back of the neck. That sorta thing.’

‘Ain’t much unusual down certain parts of here,’ Sharon muttered.

‘Not usual down Goldsmith but you never know.’ Eddie shrugged. ‘Only when I got to the corner I realised something weren’t right. Like it were crawlin’ under my fucking skin, making my mind wander to shit I didn’t want to think about. An’ you don’t let your fuckin’ mind wander if you think you’re being followed round here. That’s just stupid.’

It had to take, Lily thought, a Muggle of tremendous clarity of mind to tell the difference between dark thoughts on a dark night and something actively screwing with him. She wondered how many other Muggles had run foul of this Dementor the last few days, or maybe even weeks, and thought nothing of it, just emerged home shuddering and shaking, or worse. Would they even know if someone had fallen into the Dementor’s clutches, like she almost had? Or would it be another missing person, or yet another arrival at an overcrowded hospital, their mind shattered?

‘We’ve all known there were _something_ up with Jack since he left for fancy school,’ Eddie was saying, apparently having said as much as he was prepared to on his encounter. ‘So when - he ain’t a great liar - I told him, he got that _look_ , you must know which, the one where he’s thinking about punching something. Then he gives us some shitty lies about staying out a few nights and keeping an eye out for _trouble_.’

‘And that was enough for you?’

‘He’s my mate. I trust him.’

‘Besides,’ Sharon butted in, ‘we weren’t gonna let him wander the streets on his _own_. You just don’t do that round here.’ _I do_ , Lily thought, but then they turned a corner and Eddie pointed up ahead at their destination, as if she wouldn’t have spotted the abandoned church without his help.

The church on Bellshore looked old, had probably been there for centuries. Or most of it; it was difficult to tell in the dark how convincing the patch-up job was, but new red brick had been built in the gaps of the old where German bombs and vicious fire had left their mark. The windows looked newer, but most were broken, and the noticeboard out front was empty, its glass front similarly smashed. Now it filled space between dimmed business fronts, a stutter in the road of everyday living in Peckham.

‘Wait up,’ said Sharon, gesturing for them to get up against a wall, flatten their silhouettes down this empty street of closed shops and houses with lights barely scraping past shut curtains. ‘I’ll go have a look. If we think the damn thing might be _lured_ here, let’s not walk into its face.’

‘It’s just a theory,’ Lily said apologetically, but Sharon didn’t answer as she slid against the wall to slink through shadows into the churchyard. ‘Does she know what she’s doing?’

‘Better ‘n you or me,’ Eddie whispered. ‘And Sharon ain’t an idiot. She gets a whiff of trouble from there, she’ll scarper.’

They hunkered down around the corner, and soon enough Lily lost sight of Sharon in the gloom. Then there was nothing; barely the sound of life from distant houses, the hum of London life this late night on a holiday nothing but background noise by now. So when Sharon re-emerged beside them a few minutes later, she almost jumped out of her skin.

‘It’s clear,’ said Sharon. Somewhere down the line she’d tied her dark hair back, but now she was done with sneaking, back to swaggering towards the church. ‘No fucker here. Your theory might be bullshit.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Eddie, waving Lily on ahead of him and taking up the rear. ‘Maybe Jack an’ Taz found something.’

The front door wasn’t locked, but only gloom and a wave of dust greeted them as they let themselves into the church. Moonlight streamed inside through a gap in the rafters where roof repairs had either not been finished or were inadequate against time and neglect, the shining hint of silver ghosts of days long past. Although dusty, the long rows of pews were still intact; brought in, set up, and probably never used, if Eddie’s local history lesson was anything to go by. At the far end loomed the altar, imposing and empty, a summons to worship an entity that couldn’t save them, to prayers that would never be answered. Other than that, the church was bare; people might have not wanted to use a church with such a morbid history if nobody could rally local faith enough, but they were certainly prepared to steal anything of value, if it had even been left there.

‘Homely,’ Lily mused.

‘ _Not_ haunted to fuck,’ Sharon concluded.

‘It was just a guess,’ said Eddie, and Lily felt a rush of gratitude towards him for accepting some responsibility for this perhaps proving a wild goose chase. She might have been wrong, but they’d followed and helped, and they could be wrong together.

Sharon walked down the central passageway of the nave, between the rows of pews. ‘Still creepy. I get why people didn’t want to come here. I mean, no fuckin’ use coming to church around here, but still.’ She gave them a sardonic smirk over her shoulder. ‘Wonder if we get points for being here Christmas Eve?’

‘Not me,’ came a voice at the door, and Lily’s heart jumped into her throat before she saw Jack and Taz come in. Jack was wearing that look Eddie had talked about, like he wanted to punch things. ‘Protestant church on Christmas Eve? I’d get a hiding.’ Then he looked right at Lily. ‘We got a _big_ problem.’

‘Yes, it’s called a Dementor.’

‘It ain’t alone. Someone brought it here. Two someones. Fuckin’ Death Eaters. This ain’t no accident. This is an _attack_.’ Jack took the time to glance up and down the street before he shut the door behind them and they all gathered in the nave.

Lily’s chest tightened. ‘Death Eaters let a Dementor loose on _Peckham_? What the fuck is going on?’

‘And what the fuck,’ said Taz, ‘is a _Death Eater_?’

Lily and Jack exchanged glances, and Jack huffed. ‘Wizard bastards who want to kill everyone who weren’t born into wizarding family.’

‘It’s the magical National Front,’ said Lily for simplicity’s sake. ‘And people like Jack and me are their targets.’

Taz scowled. ‘People _like_ Jack an’ you? Or _Jack an_ _’ you_?’

Jack squared his shoulders. ‘I didn’t _invite_ trouble here, Taz.’

 _No,_ Lily thought, _I did._ Cold crawled into her gut, crept up her throat. _I challenged the Carrows and in doing so I challenged the Death Eaters, and that won_ _’t do; they want us scared._ She’d wondered if anyone would notice if a Muggle died in Peckham to a magical attack. What would happen if _Jack_ went missing over Christmas? She’d know it was foul play. Everyone would know it was foul play. But nobody would prove a damn thing, and Mulciber and the Carrows would go about the corridors smirking… ‘ _Fuck_.’

Jack gave her a sharp look. ‘Lily -’

‘This is my fault.’ The words spilt out before she could stop herself, and she rounded on Jack, grabbing his sleeve. ‘I pissed them off and they came for you to get to me -’

‘This is _their_ fault!’ Jack snapped. ‘If they came for me it’s cos they fuckin’ hate _all_ of us, Lily…’

‘ _Hey_!’ Taz grabbed his shoulder. ‘Don’t ignore me! You don’t get to bring trouble down on our heads, on the heads of _everyone round here_ with your magic shit! We got enough problems here without the problems of _your sort_!’

Lily saw Jack flinch, but then steel returned to his eyes as he rounded on Taz. ‘I didn’t ask for this,’ he growled, shaking off his hand. ‘All I did was live my life an’ then they’re fucking coming for us - it might not be for _me_ -’

‘But it’s magic shit,’ said Taz flatly. ‘It’s magic shit and it’s in Peckham and that shit didn’t happen before you two kicked a hornet’s nest and brought them down on us -’

‘Then _leave_!’ Jack roared. ‘Fuck off home, then, an’ we’ll deal with it!’

Taz squared his shoulders and Lily found her wand sliding into her hand, but it was Eddie who waded in between them, hands planted on their chests. ‘ _Oi_! Take it easy, both of you!’ Jack backed off, so it was on Taz that Eddie’s hand remained. Taz was decidedly bigger, but there was ice in Eddie’s glare that kept him at bay, and Eddie kept talking in a low, even voice. ‘Someone comes for one of us, they come for _all_ of us, an’ Jack’s one of us. You _know_ that, Taz, you two’ve been runnin’ around together too long to forget that just ‘cos you’re pissed off and scared.’

Taz’s lip curled. ‘I ain’t scared -’

‘ _Bullshit_ , I’m scared. So let’s not forget who the fuck we are, right?’

Sharon slunk up next to Jack, putting a hand on his arm and looking plaintively at Taz. ‘Taz, don’t be a dick. Let’s just get this sorted, right?’

Taz looked between them - then stepped back and threw his arms in the air. ‘Fuckin’ _fine_.’

Lily let out a slow breath, and looked at Jack. ‘We’ve got to take this to the Ministry.’

His chest was still heaving. ‘You think they’ll listen?’

‘I think we have to try. We can’t run around trying to get a photo of bloody Death Eaters. And we can’t fight _them_ , either.’

Jack’s jaw tightened. ‘Alright. Yeah. Lads, you better be off home.’

Eddie frowned. ‘And leave you two to it? Not a chance, mate.’

‘We’re not gonna fight,’ insisted Jack. ‘We’re getting out of Peckham and we’re going to the magic coppers. You guys should go home.’

‘Fine by me,’ muttered Taz. ‘Let’s -’

Lily had assumed the chill in her chest was tightening as the stakes rose. But then Taz’s voice trailed off, Jack stood a little straighter, Sharon shifted her weight like she was ready to throw a punch, and Eddie rounded on the windows. ‘Fucking hell…’ The oath misted in the air as ice crawled along the remains of the glass, and Lily’s insides finished freezing solid.

‘We’re too late,’ she whispered.

Taz hopped back like his feet were on fire. ‘We gotta go,’ he said, and turned to the door. ‘We gotta _fucking_ go -’

‘Hold on, we don’t know what’s -’ Jack only caught up as he opened the door. Both froze there for a heartbeat before Jack slammed it shut and stuck his shoulder against it, paling. ‘Fucking hell, we are _way_ too late.’

‘I don’t see nothing!’ Taz snapped, but he, too, looked pale and had his back to the door. ‘It’s just _worse_ out there!’

Lily met Jack’s wide-eyed stare of pure terror. ‘How close?’

‘It’s at the fucking gate. Lily, you gotta go.’

‘Surely _everyone_ climbing out a window’s a better plan?’

Sharon looked at Lily. ‘I fucking adore this plan.’

‘Apparate,’ said Jack. ‘Get to the Ministry.’

‘And leave you?’ snapped Lily. ‘I don’t even know if I _can_ , I’ve never done it properly! Just a few lessons, I don’t take my test for months!’

‘Fuck your test -’

‘I’m not saying I won’t run away to bring the cavalry because it’s _illegal_ , Jack, I’m saying I don’t know if I _can_!’ Her voice had risen more octaves than she liked, and she could feel the shake in her knees she wasn’t sure came from fear or cold.

‘Then, what, we split like dropped Skittles and hope it don’t catch us?’

‘That’d be _your_ plan if I ran!’

‘Sounds super important,’ said Eddie, moving to an edge of a pew, ‘but someone give me a hand with this while you magic types come up with an answer.’

Taz and Sharon went to help him and Lily ran next to Jack to put her shoulder against the door, too. ‘I don’t want to run and leave you,’ she said firmly. ‘I even more don’t want to run and leave you and just _splinch_ myself.’

Jack’s chest was heaving, every pant mist before him. She could feel it worse at the church entrance, see frost creep along the metal fixtures of the big double doors, feel the wood against her shoulder cold as ice. ‘You gotta try,’ was all he said.

And he was right. Terror telling her to flee fought with loyalty telling her to fight and reason telling her to run to _save_ them. Heart in her throat, she grabbed Jack to wrap him in a bear hug. ‘ _Expecto Patronum_ ,’ she muttered in his ear fervently. ‘That’s the incantation, and - and think of something _happy_. I’m coming back for you, Jack, I _promise_.’

‘I’ll think of _that_ ,’ he said, voice rough as he let her go.

She staggered away, wand now in hand, and looked at Taz, Eddie and Sharon, who were hauling the pews over to make a barricade. She didn’t know if a Dementor would care. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told them, not sure if she was apologising for being here, for running, or for her part in bringing all this down on their heads. Then she lifted her wand before her, furrowed her brow, and tried to think.

The road outside the Ministry civilian entrance. She’d been there before, taken the train or the Knight Bus on what felt like her thousand petitions and efforts to get the Ministry to intervene in her mother’s case. If she just focused on there, thought about the tiny space between her location and that road, all it would take was concentration. She’d never done this distance; never done more than the couple of lessons this term which wouldn’t start in earnest until they returned to Hogwarts. So all she had were the principles.

_It_ _’s not that far a distance, and what is it to magic? All you’re doing is taking one step across half of London. With magic, that’s not so hard. One step across London and then you’re back at the Ministry -_

The Ministry, with its foreboding walls and halls of authority saying _no, no, no_ , over again. The Ministry, refusing to help her family, refusing to use magic to _save_ her family, save her mother. Would they even listen this time? Or would they dismiss the Muggle-born girl coming late on Christmas Eve to half-empty offices with _stories_ , turn her away, let her family suffer _again_ -

The distance, those long miles she had to travel in an instant, stretched before her like an abyss. She’d fall, she knew; tumble into the _space between_ because if she couldn’t manage it before, why would she manage now? Why would she save them now if she couldn’t save her mother; and if she couldn’t, what was the point? Best to fall into the space between, scatter herself across London -

Lily fell to her knees on the church floor with a gasping, shuddering sob that tried to freeze in her throat and came out in icy mist, wand in a white-knuckled grip. ‘I can’t do it,’ she choked. ‘I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry…’ It was advanced magic she’d never properly trained to do, under stress and in the face of a monster she _knew_ was making it hard to think, to concentrate; was making her more and more terrified. And yet the memory of her mother still sobbed in her ears with _failure, failure, failure_.

‘Oh, _fuck_ ,’ snapped Taz, backing off from the makeshift barricade. ‘We’re so, so fucked…’

‘Then we better run,’ said Eddie, ushering them towards the rear of the church. ‘Broken windows, get out the back.’

Lily felt strong hands on her shoulders, felt Jack hauling her to her feet, and his touch brought back a semblance of clarity, an anchor to reality. She stumbled along with him, despite the cold that had infiltrated the building, the walls, _them_. ‘If we get some distance,’ she managed to say, ‘Maybe I can beat this, it’s just in my _head_ -’

‘I know,’ said Jack firmly. ‘We’ll go, we’ll -’

‘ _Fuck_!’ That was Sharon skidding to a halt, and Lily’s heart sank as she looked up.

Most of the windows were broken, and it shouldn’t have been difficult to clear a safe way out. But the frozen aura of the Dementors, something Lily had long thought to be more about what she _felt_ than reality, had worsened. Perhaps it was something the creature could do at will; perhaps this was what happened if such a monster came in darkest, deepest winter. The fact remained that the windows, even the broken ones, were iced over solid.

Taz had grabbed a length of wood from a broken pew, only for it to shatter when he swung it at the iced window. ‘We’re completely stuck…’

‘Hang on!’ Jack, arm still around Lily, pulled out his wand and pointed it at the windows. ‘ _Reducto!_ ’ The spell rocketed from his wand-tip only to bounce off the ice, and he swore.

‘ _Magic_ ice?’ Sharon sounded horrified. ‘ _Bugger_ that!’

Lily looked at Jack and forced herself to pull away, forced herself to stand on her own two feet. It wasn’t easy as everything still rattled about inside her, shaking frozen bones, but if she concentrated on everyone’s voices, on the warmth of her friend next to her, on her feet on the ground, she could focus. Even thinking about the fear, not of what had happened or what _might_ happen, but the fear of what was in front of her, helped. This wasn’t about worst case scenarios. This was about the here and now. ‘Then you and me better either fix this.’

Now Jack’s face fell. ‘Lily, I’m a _crap_ wizard.’

‘You are _not_ ,’ she said, ‘and now isn’t the time to think that. Because if you and me are shit, we’re dead. So we don’t have the _option_ of being shit.’ Desperation, oddly, also helped. She grabbed his free hand and turned them both to face the frozen front doors. ‘Guys! Get down and we’ll do what we can!’

She could feel the shake in Jack’s grip as they headed down the nave, back towards the doors, wands in hand. ‘Lily…’

‘You can do this,’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t even _think_ about not doing this. You’ve got the incantation, we’ve got each other, _we can do this_.’

They stopped a few metres from the frozen front doors, the others scrabbling for cover, and only when they quietened did Lily realise _everything_ was silent. No hum of the backdrop of London, no buzzing of televisions from the distant houses, no noise of anyone or anything nearby. Just their ragged breathing and the crackling of magical ice. Next to her Jack whispered words over and over, and she had to glance up to find his eyes shut tight before she realised what he was saying.

‘ _Hail Mary, full of grace_ _…_ ’

Even in a church on Christmas Eve when they needed a miracle, she couldn’t bring herself to pray. But she didn’t think it would hurt.

The turning of the door-handle was enough to send another shockwave through her of terror and grief and guilt - if only she could have Disapparated they might be safe by now, if only she’d been _smarter_ she might have convinced the Ministry - but then the door creaked open. The makeshift barricade tumbled as easy as a house of cards, and Lily understood more about fear in that moment than ever in her life. It was not a conscious choice to be terrified or even a conscious choice to act on fear; it was instinct. Survival instincts in her bones, and they screamed at her to turn, bolt, scrabble at the walls and scream and cower from the dark, shrouded figure looming before them.

Had she not been holding Jack’s hand, she might have fled. But he didn’t run, and that gave her the inch of courage she needed, and she tried to not think about how maybe they waited for the other to break, first, so they could bring themselves to flee -

Her wand snapped up as the Dementor slid across the frozen church towards them. Three metres tall, all shadows of the room curled around it, like it was the beating, pulsing heart of all this winter’s night and all its grief and terror, and it took all she had to look directly at it, let alone open her mouth, let alone speak.

‘ _Expecto Patronum_ _…_ ’ But her voice came out thin and reedy, and Jack’s was no better, and the memories spun away. Kissing Wick, laughing with Dory, Jack by her side here and now, the satisfaction of getting a good spell past Potter in training, all the Muggle-borns cheering on the Hogwarts Express, her father’s embrace…

And they spiralled out into nothing as her wand-tip gleamed silver, sputtered, and died, leaving only darkness and the Dementor.

‘Fuck,’ breathed Jack, staggering back, and that broke her, too. ‘Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ -’

‘It won’t work,’ she choked, and they let go of each other to back-pedal from the Dementor, retreating down opposite sides of the nave. ‘What the _fuck_ were we thinking…’ Not just in fighting the Dementor. In fighting the Slytherins, in fighting _at all_ ; what had she been _thinking_?

‘What the _fuck_ is going on?’ came the terrified shout of Taz from the back, the Muggles seeing nothing except the opening door and the wizards’ spirits breaking.

‘ _Run_!’ Jack roared, almost falling as he stumbled over pews and began to scrabble back. ‘Just _run_!’

‘We can’t!’ shouted Lily, panic bubbling in her throat. ‘We can’t get out the windows, it’s blocking the way -’

The Dementor had paused to turn this way and that between Jack and Lily, and her insides crawled with self-loathing at the relief rising in her when it looked at Jack -

‘ _Hey_!’ Eddie surged down the central passage way, eyes wandering so much it was clear he couldn’t see the Dementor - but he had its whereabouts. Lily watched it turn to face him, robes billowing behind its wraith-like figure, and still Eddie came onward, his hand gleaming. For an impossible second she thought he had a wand and was casting, but that was ridiculous -

\- almost as ridiculous as him bringing a knife to a fight with a Dementor.

‘This is _our fucking town_ ,’ shouted Eddie, halting before the enemy he couldn’t see, knife before him. ‘ _My_ town, _my_ people, not _yours_! You’re going to have to go through me to get to them.’ And, weight on the balls of his feet as if he could dodge away, he glanced between Jack and Lily. ‘The door’s open. _Go_!’

But Lily’s feet were anchors. Jack hesitated, too, and the moment she could take a stumbling step towards the door, the Dementor locked its attention on Eddie and glided forward. Perhaps he sensed it, perhaps he knew he _had_ to have its attention, but Eddie drew his knife in like he was ready for an attack. ‘Alright, then, sunshine,’ he drawled, lips curling away to show bared teeth. ‘Let’s have it.’ All the world’s darkness before them and him with only a knife. An enemy that could not be overcome, fit only to be cowered in front of, and instead he stood firm as if that made it less futile. It made no difference, and yet all the difference in the world.

Whatever part of Lily remained sane could only marvel at that sort of courage, and for a heartbeat she thought she could move. Then the Dementor extended its clawed grasp and grabbed Eddie by the throat. He gurgled, dropped the knife, pawed at the enemy he couldn’t see, battered at the arm he couldn’t begin to break the hold of, as his feet were hauled off the ground.

Lily screamed, Jack shouted, and in the background she could hear the sound of Taz and Sharon’s panic. She didn’t know if she envied them, not being able to _see_ the Dementor as it lifted Eddie in the air, and then she could see its face coming in closer, see Eddie writhe as the Dementor’s maw blurred with his head, and she knew what was happening.

 _No, no, no_ … She tried to rush forward, raised her wand, and this time she couldn’t even remember the incantation for a patronus, let alone bring up the memories needed to fuel it. But the Dementor had Eddie in its grasp, and she could _see_ the silvery energy swirling around him, _out_ of him, into the Dementor’s maw as it Kissed him. And before she could even remember the words, ‘Expecto Patronum,’ let alone _say_ them, it released its grip and let Eddie fall like a rag-doll from its grasp. He collapsed on the church floor, and though she could hear his rasping gasp for breath, see him writhe, he didn’t rise.

It was too late. They’d failed. And staring at Eddie was to do nothing but stare at everyone’s fate.

It was Jack who made the most commotion, Jack who shouted the most, and to Jack the Dementor turned next.

‘ _Stay away from him_!’ Lily screamed, throat raw, but that was all she could do as she clutched at the pew, knowing in her bones all she’d done was come to Peckham to get them all as good as killed, and she stood motionless as the Dementor glided across the floor towards Jack. She brought up her wand, held it in both hands, gritted her teeth and knew she _couldn_ _’t_ fail. ‘ _Expecto Patronum_ ,’ she hissed in a low, desperate voice. ‘ _Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum_!’

And nothing happened.


	30. Never Gonna Be the Same

_And I felt a rush like a rolling bolt of thunder_  
 _Spinning my head around and taking my body under._  
\- _‘December, 1963 (Oh What a Night)’, The Four Seasons_

Silver erupted across the nave, a white, translucent shape of four legs that thundered into the Dementor and sent both it and the shadows billowing back. It shone bright against the dark and Lily gaped, not having felt any inkling of magic taking form through her or through her wand. Then she saw the patronus that prowled forwards was a lion, realised it had come through the front doors, and knew it wasn’t hers.

‘Jack! Lily! Get behind us!’ Four figures burst through the entrance and front and centre of them, wand shining bright and silver as he held it high and firm against the Dementor, stood Professor Dearborn.

She froze and so did Jack, but it made little difference as the patronus advanced on the Dementor in its dark corner, swirling like a shadow given form. The air shook at a sound like a clap of thunder of the shattering of the icy barriers across the windows, and then the Dementor was gone, shooting through one of the broken windows and into the shrouded night of London. And the chill faded and the gleam of light from the city returned, but the lump of dread in Lily’s gut did not move.

‘ _Eddie_!’ Jack bolted to the fallen form of his friend, sinking to his knees. One of the four new arrivals broke ranks to join him, a young man Lily dimly recognised, but she was too busy gawping at the others. Or, more particularly, Caradoc Dearborn.

The professor stalked across the church to grasp her shoulders, and for a moment she thought he was going to shout. But his grip was firm, supportive, and only then did she realise how close she was to keeling over. ‘Lily - look at me, focus. You’re alright, you hear me? It’s okay.’

‘I…’ Then she staggered and found herself enveloped in a hug by her Muggle Studies Professor who had just burst in like the cavalry, and all she could do was clutch at him. ‘What… how…’

‘You were right,’ came his rough, low voice as he held her tight. He was _warm_ , so warm, not just from body heat to drive off the freezing chill of the Dementors, but as a solid anchor of reassurance that battled all dread and terror. ‘You were right to keep an eye on the Muggles, you were right to check in, you were right to send word…’

‘I told…’

‘Meadowes, who told Marlene McKinnon, who told… well.’ She pulled back to see Dearborn’s face creasing with consternation, and he squeezed her shoulders before letting her go. ‘That’s another story. Got to make sure you’re okay first.’

‘ _Eddie_!’ This second cry was Taz, and Lily looked past Dearborn to see him reach the gathering around his friend. ‘What happened, what -’ Taz rounded on Jack, grabbing him by the shoulder to pull him to his feet. ‘What the _fuck_ happened to him!’

‘Oh, _no_ ,’ Lily breathed, and the dread returned.

‘We were too late,’ said the wizard who’d first got to Eddie, the one Lily recognised and now placed as a recent Hufflepuff graduate. ‘I’m sorry, Jack, he’s - he’s gone.’

‘ _Gone_? The _fuck_ d’you mean?’ Taz looked between them all, a burly figure suddenly small. The only flash of comprehension to cross his face came with anger, and dark eyes locked on Jack. ‘You.’ His voice was a churning ocean. ‘You did this -’

‘What -’

‘You _brought_ this here!’ A fist swung, Jack fell back, and then there was chaos again.

The wizard beside them - Muldoon, that was his name, Alex Muldoon - grabbed and pinned Taz so he couldn’t swing again. ‘Easy, mate! There’s nothing he could have done, this wasn’t on him!’

‘ _None_ of this would have happened if it weren’t for you!’ Taz roared, struggling against the hold, red-faced, spittle flying.

Lily rushed to Jack’s side, but he waved off her help as he stood, clutching his chin. Taz was held tight in place, one of the new arrivals - a silver-haired witch Lily didn’t recognise - was approaching a cautious, frozen Sharon, and the fourth wizard stomped up to Dearborn.

‘Looks like you’ve got your hands full here, Doc,’ he growled. ‘You know what to do. I’ll go rouse the Aurors to check out any other trouble; you want to be out of here before they come down.’

Dearborn nodded. ‘I’ve got it in hand, Alastor.’

‘Death Eaters,’ Lily blurted at them. They stared at her and she looked at Jack, who didn’t look like he was about to speak any time soon, staring at the prone form of Eddie. ‘There were Death Eaters here; this wasn’t an accident, they _sent_ the Dementor…’

The wizard named Alastor rounded on her. ‘You’re sure?’

‘ _He_ _’s_ sure,’ Lily said defiantly, gesturing to Jack, who remained silent.

Alastor nodded to Dearborn. ‘Fix this before I’m back. You don’t want these five - four - caught in the crossfire. I’ll get the Enforcers to do their _bloody_ jobs.’

He was gone with a _crack_ of Disapparition, and Dearborn looked past Lily at Muldoon. ‘There’s nothing to be done?’

Taz had shrunk, his fury exhausting, but Muldoon kept one hand on him as he grimaced. ‘He’s been Kissed, Boss. There’s nothing.’

‘Son of a _bitch_.’ A muscle worked in the corner of Dearborn’s jaw, and he glanced to Lily and Jack. ‘I’m so sorry. You’re unhurt?’ They both nodded, and he drew a deep breath. ‘Then I’m even more sorry.’

Lily caught him glance at Taz, but Jack just frowned. ‘You what?’

Dearborn ignored him and looked to the back of the church. ‘Lydia! Is she alright?’

The silver-haired witch named Lydia lead Sharon, who looked just about as scared out of her wits as before, down to them. ‘Unharmed, Caradoc. Do you want me to handle it?’

‘Yeah,’ grunted Dearborn. ‘You’re better at it than me.’

‘Better at _what_?’ Jack was hunching up, that look of a hunted animal returning.

Lily let out a slow breath. ‘Obliviation, Jack.’

‘The _fuck_ ,’ hissed Taz, struggling until Muldoon tightened his grip. ‘Is _obliviation_?’

‘It was unavoidable but this situation was a breach of the Statute,’ Dearborn said, and Lily’s heart sank as she realised he was talking to her and Jack, not even the struggling Taz or the rattled Sharon. ‘They can have no knowledge of what happened here tonight.’

‘They - Eddie’s _fucked up_ , what’re you going to _say_?’ Jack snapped.

Dearborn scowled. ‘We’ll do what we can for him, but if he’s been Kissed by a Dementor, he’s gone, Corrigan. It’s a damned tragedy but no magic can bring his soul back.’

‘I think having him show up in hospital as a hit and run, alter some memories and some documents, would be best,’ Lydia said gently. ‘Then the Muggles can give him the best support possible in his condition.’

‘You ain’t seen a fucking hospital round here if you think that’s the best support!’ sputtered Jack.

‘This is the _law_ , Corrigan, and even _we_ cannot ignore it at this level,’ said Dearborn. ‘And this is not up for debate. I’m sorry.’

‘No knowledge,’ growled Taz, subsided again against the restraint of the bulkier wizard Muldoon. ‘Magic, what, _destroys_ us?’

‘Erases memories,’ said Lydia. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘You’re gonna make us fuckin’ forget _this_ , forget _Eddie_ , forget _what_ _’s happened_ , and you’re _sorry_?’

Sharon drew a shaky breath. ‘I don’t mind forgetting,’ she mumbled at the floor.

Taz watched Lydia raise her wand, and his gaze locked on Jack. ‘ _Fuck_ you, Corrigan,’ he hissed. ‘I might not remember but you will. _You_ brought this shit down on us, _you_ got this done to Eddie, _fuck you_ -’

‘ _Obliviate_!’

Dearborn drew Jack and Lily away from the others as Lydia set to work on the frozen Taz and Sharon, and Muldoon returned to Eddie’s side. Jack had gone stiff and silent, while Lily wasn’t sure she could look him in the eye. ‘There’s nothing good about this situation,’ said Dearborn. ‘The Aurors are going to be brought in to hunt down the Death Eaters, get to the bottom of this. Alastor is going to keep them off you, though he might come have a word with you himself, get the whole story. You can trust him, he’s one of us.’

‘Who’s _us_?’ Lily said in a low, flat voice.

Dearborn looked pained again. ‘This is a long story and maybe not for tonight. But we’re friends, Lily, please trust us in that. We came to help as soon as we heard. Muldoon’s going to take care of your friend Eddie, get him into as proper care as possible, but I’m sorry, he’s never going to recover. You just don’t from a Dementor’s Kiss. And McKinnon - Lydia - is going to get your other friends home. So far as they’ll be concerned, they spent the evening doing nothing much together, and will learn about Eddie probably tomorrow. You cannot tell them the truth, Jack, do you hear me?’

Jack’s expression had slumped. ‘Sure,’ he said tonelessly.

‘But what -’

Dearborn cut her off. ‘I promise there’ll be more explanations. Later; you should get home. Lily, if we take Jack -’

‘I can take myself,’ he said in the same voice, but when Dearborn looked like he might argue, something in his eyes flashed. ‘I’ll get myself home, Professor.’

Dearborn sighed. ‘Then Lily, I’ll get _you_ home. But first, Lydia did make someone - two someones - a promise…’ He flicked his wand and nothing seemed to happen. But then there was movement at the door and three more figures appeared; an older wizard, but before him, rushing into the church, came Dory and Marlene.

‘Jack, _Lily_!’ Dory threw herself at them both, arms wrapping around them tight. ‘Jesus _Christ_ , Lily, I thought you were just paranoid but then you didn’t _ring_ …’

Lily returned the hug and was relieved to see even the subdued Jack do the same. ‘Dory, what did you _do_?’

Dory pulled back, expression creased, and gestured to the bashful Marlene next to her. ‘Floo’d the McKinnons. I mean, you were right, the Ministry probably weren’t going to take you seriously or Jack seriously or even _me_ seriously, but I thought when you didn’t call that something might actually be up so - well, I figured they might take a McKinnon seriously. I _did_ think about trying Potter, but then I thought, “Lily would rather be murdered horribly than saved by James Potter.”’

Marlene wrapped her arms around herself as if she felt the intruder. ‘I told my parents,’ she said quietly, glancing in the direction of Lydia and the wizard who had accompanied them. ‘I thought they’d tell the Ministry but they, well - they have friends they said could help quicker.’

Lily felt her eyes water, and she didn’t know if it was from stress or grief at Eddie or relief, or the sheer wave of affection at the loyalty from her friends. ‘ _Thank_ you,’ she croaked, looking between them. ‘We’d be dead if you hadn’t taken us seriously, God. _Thank_ you.’

‘ _You_ _’re_ the one who did this, Lily,’ said Dory, wincing. ‘If you’d listened to me and not come here…’

 _Maybe we wouldn_ _’t have come to this church to be rats in a cage. Or maybe Jack would have run into trouble without anyone to save him. Or maybe the Dementor would have started preying on people in the street. Or maybe Eddie would still be whole._ She reached for Jack’s arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to him.

Now his brow furrowed with something other than mute shock or anger. ‘ _You_ _’re_ sorry? You -’ Then he stopped, and felt his front with a wince, and Lily’s gut did a loop-the-loop before he opened his jacket to show the shattered remains of his camera. ‘ _Piss_.’

He must have landed on it at some point. ‘Oh, _Jack_ ,’ she sighed. ‘I’m -’

‘This is the most irrelevant fucking thing of the evening,’ he snapped, pulling it off and throwing it on the ground. ‘Just can’t afford a new one.’ He took a step back, looked at them all - at the shrouded church, at Taz and Sharon immobile as their memories were reworked, at Eddie being patched up by Muldoon as much as was possible, at Lily and Dory and Marlene, and then he turned away. ‘I’m… I’m going home.’

‘Jack…’ Lily went to go after him, but Dearborn put a hand on her shoulder.

‘I’ll have someone make sure he gets home okay,’ he said. ‘We should get _you_ home.’

Dory frowned. ‘But -’

‘The deal was that you get to make sure they’re alright once the coast is clear,’ said Dearborn. ‘That’s done. _You_ should be off home, too. It’s gone midnight.’

‘Huh. I guess it is.’ Dory wilted as Marlene nodded and looked at her parents, and gave Lily a sidelong glance. ‘So, uh. Merry Christmas, Red.’

Lily sighed, watching Jack slide out the doors and into the night, gone. ‘Yeah,’ she murmured. ‘Merry Christmas.’

Professor Dearborn could get her to her front door with Apparition, and so she appeared on her lawn to see the lights still shining through the living room window. Despite her bone-wrenching exhaustion and how she hadn’t thought she could feel another thing without passing out, a fresh sense of dread washed over her. ‘Oh, no.’ Her father was waiting.

Dearborn’s hand on her shoulder remained. ‘Would you like me to come in with you? Explain that tonight was legitimately a serious incident?’

‘It’s alright, Professor,’ Lily said in a dull voice. ‘I’m not afraid he won’t believe me.’

His hand dropped. ‘However you want to handle it. It’s your family. I promised you an explanation and you’ll get one; at worst, come find me at Hogwarts next week and we’ll… I don’t bloody know, have tea, or…’

She looked at him with another fresh wave of feeling, but this time it was that same warmth and relief she’d felt at the first embrace. ‘Professor… _thank_ you…’

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ he said gruffly. ‘You shouldn’t. We were too slow.’

‘If you’d been any slower, we’d _all_ be gone. Eddie’s not your fault; the Death Eaters sent that Dementor…’ _Against Jack. Why would they target Jack, why would they go after Jack when there are more high-profile people to hurt -_  
 __  
 _\- high profile people who are going to be watched more closely, who live in places where a Dementor_ _’s marauding might be more noticed, while Jack could be tormented until he went missing and the Muggle world would barely notice and the magical world wouldn’t recognise a damn thing formally, but we’d all know, we’d know,_ I’d _know -_  
 __  
 _\- Was it sent to hurt_ me?

It was a selfish thought and one she was too exhausted to handle, so she just gave another small nod and said again, ‘Thank you. I’ll handle this from here.’

‘Oh, one last thing,’ said Dearborn as she headed for the path. ‘Alastor should take care of it, but if anyone else asks, formally, officially - Auror Alastor Moody arrived alone, and he saved you. You understand?’

‘No,’ said Lily, glancing back. ‘But it’s what I’ll say. And then we’ll have a conversation when I see you again, Professor.’

Even though she knew her father was awake, she tried to be quiet letting herself in. Even though she knew his hearing was sharp as anything, she tried to be quiet hanging up that thick winter coat of her mother’s, tried to be quiet opening the porch door to come into the darkened hall. And then he was there in the door to the living room, a tall silhouette, and she hated the fact she knew her father’s pains so well to recognise he was more terrified than he was angry.

‘Dad…’ Her voice broke before she meant to and she rushed to him for a tight, fierce hug, where she heard his breath quaver and that was enough to let her sob and weep and clutch at him in the one place in the world she knew it was safe to break.

Except it wasn’t, because she’d hidden so much for him, refused to let herself break in front of him at every refusal from the Ministry, tried to save him from the strains and defeats and hopes dashed over and over…

He steered her inside and settled her on the sofa and before she knew it she had a mug of hot chocolate pushed into her hands. ‘First,’ said Stephen Evans in a rough, raw voice, ‘are you alright?’ And when she nodded mutely, he sighed with relief but pressed on. ‘Then I want to know everything.’

‘Everything,’ said Lily quietly, ‘is a lot.’

‘Petunia’s asleep,’ her father said. ‘You look exhausted, and if you want it to wait you can, but now’s a good time…’

‘No it’s not. But no time is a good time.’ She took a sip of her drink, ignored the heat because there were parts of her warmth still needed to reach, and told him everything.

Not really. Because she didn’t want to tell him how much she’d fought to save her mother with magic and how much even the institutions of wizardry cared more about their laws than saving lives. Because she didn’t want to tell him how Taz and Sharon had been through hell only to have their memories wiped as _inconveniences_ , even by the people who’d saved them. Because she didn’t have the _words_ to express the grinding onslaught of pressure from every word and look and action from those purebloods who hated her, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him how even authority figures who cared had only so much power to fight it.

But he understood war, and understood hate, and there was plenty of both to go around, and when she was finished and the clock threatened two in the morning he stared at his hands and said, ‘I want to tell you to not go back to this school.’

‘Dad -’

‘I know you wouldn’t listen to me.’ Stephen Evans drew a deep breath and looked up. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I was afraid you’d stop me,’ said Lily, but it was only half the truth. ‘I was afraid it would just hurt you. I didn’t want you to worry; you didn’t need _more_ on your plate, Dad -’

‘I’m your _father_. It’s my _job_ to have everything on my plate if it comes to my children. There’s no burden too far when it comes to you two, you hear me?’ His voice shook, and she reached to grasp his hand tight. ‘I know you don’t want me to worry because you think I can’t help, but if even _listening_ helps - and if you think I can’t give advice…’

‘It does help,’ Lily said in a rush, and while she’d intended it just to make him feel better, she found herself meaning it, too. The walls were not down but they were dented, and now she was past the point of making him feel guilty for worrying more about her, all she wanted was to curl into his lap like she was a little girl again and know her father would make everything better and safer. Even if it was an illusion, the wish was like a warm blanket, a shrouding shield she couldn’t shake. ‘God, Dad, I didn’t want to make you feel _worse_ , I was…’

‘Trying to protect me.’ The corners of Stephen’s eyes creased. ‘Isn’t that my job to protect my girls?’

And she threw herself into his arms to begin sobbing again, and even though she knew this changed nothing, really, gave her no more protections and wouldn’t heal Eddie or soothe Jack or fight back the Death Eaters, being held by her father while she cried made her feel just the tiniest bit safer.

§

It was still too cold to be out in just his leather jacket, really, and the night air froze his throat and numbed his fingertips, but so long as he could will it to turn his insides to ice, his feelings to ice, Jack was alright with that. But he hadn’t got further than around the first corner before a clear, crisp voice he didn’t recognise called out, ‘Jack?’ and he glanced back to see the older wizard he’d figured to be Marlene’s father striding to catch up.

He was a tall, willowy man, and Jack could spot the family resemblance to at least Nathaniel, which was bad news for the younger McKinnon’s hairline in the future. But there was something calming about his aristocratic bearing, level voice, and despite himself, Jack paused. He still couldn’t summon anything more friendly than a grunt of, ‘What?’

‘Considering there may very well be two Death Eaters still at large in the area, you shouldn’t walk home alone.’ He huffed as he reached Jack, catching his breath. ‘I’m Abraham McKinnon. Marlene’s father.’

‘I figured.’ Jack shoved his hands back in his pocket and carried on tromping down the pavement. Abraham fell into step but said nothing. Jack could see his eyes flickering to every corner, every dark shadow, a cool assessment of their surroundings, and despite himself the knot in his throat - not at horrors seen, but those yet to strike - loosened. ‘So you’re the one who summoned the cavalry.’

‘I’m an important man in the Ministry,’ Abraham said without pride. ‘I have friends. When Marlene said you and Lily had gone missing, I thought it best to tap them instead of formally rallying the Enforcers late on Christmas Eve. Without proof of a crisis I would expect them to be very slow indeed to mobilise tonight.’

‘How’d you find us?’

‘The Trace. Alastor Moody’s an Auror; he checked if you or Lily had been flagged up. It wasn’t enough to trigger more than an automatic warning home - we’ll deal with all of that, don’t you worry - but it was enough to find you once we were looking. It was quite late before either of you cast anything.’

‘That’s dumb, ain’t it.’ Jack kicked a can as they walked. ‘Think I might be eaten by a Dementor and we don’t cast magic until we _really_ need to. ‘Cos _that_ _’d_ be against the rules.’

‘It’s habit. We drill these rules into every young witch and wizard. I dare say when you turn seventeen, once the initial excitement of casting magic wherever you like has worn off, you’ll have a lot of ingrained reflexes to unlearn.’ They fell silent for a bit, then, walking down the estates towards Jack’s home, before Abraham spoke again. ‘I’m terribly sorry about your friend. All of them, really.’

‘Taz an’ Sharon are _lucky_ to forget. Wish I could.’

He felt Abraham’s eyes on him, calm, assessing. ‘Someone should remember the truth on what happened to the boy who was Kissed. Not even he will remember. I know that’s a terrible burden to bear, and I know it’s a churlish thing for me to say when I’ve had a hand in obliviating those involved, but the truth is precious.’

‘ _Great_ ,’ Jack drawled.

‘And by remembering,’ Abraham pushed on gently, ‘we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘It will. Or something like it. Bastards won’t stop.’

‘No. But maybe we’ll be there sooner next time.’

 _Who_ _’re we?_ Jack wanted to ask, but he was too tired to press when Dearborn had already implied this was a later discussion, and too much of him ached on the inside and outside to really care enough, and then they’d turned the corner and were at the front doors to his block of flats anyway. He stopped, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. ‘This is me.’

Abraham’s gaze rose up the tower block, the creasing at the corners of his eyes telling tales of what he thought of the place of such an estate. ‘Is there anyone you’d like me to explain things for, with you coming back so late…?’

‘Nobody’ll give a shit,’ Jack said with a guffaw that died when Abraham’s cool eyes fell on him again.

‘My daughter tells me you’re a very intense young man, Jack Corrigan.’ Jack hadn’t known Marlene McKinnon thought much of _anything_ about him, let alone enough to have comment for her father even on his rescue mission. He looked down and shrugged. ‘You should know not all of our world wants you gone. My family has fought for Muggle and Muggle-born rights for generations. I don’t say this to pretend a handful of McKinnons stepping up will automatically fix anything, but I would hate for you to think you and your kin are alone.’ Abraham McKinnon’s voice was low, gentle. ‘You survived in the face of great adversity tonight. You may take your friend’s loss as a failure and it is a _blow_ , but it would have been so easy for you all to be lost.’

‘If your lot had been about a minute later we _would_ have been.’

‘But you gave us the minutes we _had_.’

The sudden heat in Jack’s chest wasn’t fire; it was the searing warmth that came from clutching ice too hard for too long. ‘We,’ he snapped, ‘did _nothing_ ‘cept put ourselves in a barrel to be shot like fish. If we’d stayed scattered, if we’d kept moving, if we’d just _run_ instead of me bein’ an _idiot_ an’ tryin’ to take a fuckin’ _picture_ of a fuckin’ _Dementor_ , then you wouldn’t have _needed_ extra minutes, ‘cos we wouldn’t have been in that goddamn church.’ He’d prayed for the first time in years, prayed for deliverance, and it had only come with the clatter of Eddie’s body on the flagstones. ‘This weren’t no victory. This were a fuck-up that by dumb luck weren’t a bigger fuck-up.’ Without waiting for a reply he bolted indoors, skipping the lift to storm up the stinking stairwell like he could exhaust his anger, and Abraham McKinnon didn’t follow.

His mother was asleep in an armchair, all lights out except a lamp beside her, when he let himself into the flat. Jaw tight, Jack forced himself to look calm as he went over and shook her shoulder. ‘Mum. Shouldn’t sleep here.’

She woke with a jerk. ‘What’s - Jack? What time is it?’

‘Gone midnight. What’re you _doing_?’

She stretched with a groan. ‘Waiting for you.’

‘You don’t normally.’

‘I don’t _normally_ get one of your school friends coming round looking for you. Everything alright?’

It was a little thing. His parents had early on given up trying to understand magic, understand the world their son now belonged to. It wasn’t just that they’d since given up trying to understand him. They’d given up _on_ him. Let him do as he pleased, the youngest, now the only one still living at home, keeping his own hours while his parents worked jobs that kept them out even on Christmas Eve, because hospitals still needed porters and care homes still needed staff on these nights, and they couldn’t afford to _not_ work. It was why he’d not expected much from Christmas; they might surface from sleep in early afternoon tomorrow, but they’d be working Boxing Day. If Keith were still home they might have made an effort, but not for Jack. He preferred it this way by now.

He extended a hand to help his mother up from the armchair she’d sat in waiting for him. ‘Yeah,’ said Jack, because he didn’t know how to begin explaining even if he wanted to. ‘She was just a mate wanted to talk. She’s gone home now. Everything’s fine.’

§

‘Thanks again for getting me out,’ groaned Sirius as the Potters’ carriage came to a gentle landing on the gravel driveway to the McKinnons’ manor. The front was bedecked in white lights, candles hovering about the front door and glinting at every window, the transition of celebrations from Christmas to New Year successful and stylish.

Which was just as well, as Sirius was eager to move on from Christmas. It had been a dour affair, where Regulus was bedecked with gifts he _really wanted_ , including a brand new broom, while Sirius was given either presents which weren’t quite right, like the Holyhead Harpies shirt when he supported Puddlemere, or were like the set of enchanted shaving razors; perfectly nice, but a duplicate of last year’s gift. But for all his parents’ condescension and disapproval, they had no real grounds to refuse Sirius an invitation to join the Potter family at the McKinnon New Year party.

‘Any time, mate.’ James clapped him on the shoulder before springing out of the halted carriage, holding the door open for his parents.

Sirius made a show of extending his arm to Euphemia Potter, all over-the-top airs and graces to stop the offer of aid from being too pointed. He wasn’t sure _how_ old James’ parents were, but a good deal more elderly than his; James’ mother had always been the more delicate and Sirius played the gentleman to lend assistance without condescension. Euphemia, for her part, smiled and laughed and played along, which meant they took the lion’s share of attention as new arrivals to be greeted to the party. That way nobody paid too much mind to James helping his father. Fleamont Potter, while grey-haired and, by now, leather-skinned, was built like an old oak tree. If he hadn’t known better, Sirius never would have guessed he was being ravaged by some heart condition which made it impossible to tell how much exertion on any given day would drain him. So James helped where he could, and everyone politely pretended to not notice.

Nathaniel McKinnon had clearly learnt how to throw a party from his parents. While the family New Year celebration was a more refined affair than the end of summer blow-out, it was no less jubilant. A pair of floating trays bearing filled champagne flutes greeted them at the door, along with Abraham and Lydia McKinnon. Consummate hosts, their greetings were tailor-made for every new arrival; Lydia and Fleamont exchanged words on a recent article in the _Wizarding Worldwide Potions_ journal, Abraham and Euphemia chatted briefly on Minister Minchum’s latest statements with some disapproval. Abraham even made sure to compliment James on all he’d heard about Gryffindor’s Quidditch prowess, which James managed to not look dejected about, and it was only when Lydia turned to Sirius that he realised he wasn’t just coming to a McKinnon party. He was visiting his girlfriend’s house.

Somehow, in all the excitement of getting out from underfoot, he’d forgotten.

Marlene’s mother shook his hand with a crisp, polite smile. ‘Sirius. I’m so glad you managed to make it.’

Sirius had been putting on his best game face, but at that he hesitated. ‘You are? I mean, uh, thank you, Mrs McKinnon, I know you guys always throw the best parties…’

‘You’ll forgive us for our terrible oversight in failing to issue an invitation to Grimmauld Place?’ Lydia clasped his hand in both of hers, and to his surprise, her smile reached her eyes. ‘I hope you know any invitation to the Potters also extends to you.’

‘Wouldn’t have it any way, Lydia,’ said Fleamont with gruff cheer, patting Sirius on the back. ‘The boy needs fresh air every now and again, after listening to that gasbag Orion for too long.’

Then the four of them had to move past the McKinnons, into the main hall resplendent with bright, hovering lights, more trays and tables of food and drink, and one of the biggest, understated who’s who gatherings of wizarding society of the year. The McKinnons, with Abraham heading up the Department of International Magical Cooperation, were well-connected and well-liked - at least amongst the progressives in wizarding society. Traditionalists avoided them, and those too cautious to politically aggravate traditionalists by being close with the family, which made for a more relaxed gathering of the like-minded.

Sirius and James split from Fleamont and Euphemia there, drifting into the crowd. Most of the guests were adults, though they exchanged quick, cheerful words with Kingsley Shacklebolt and some of his friends, before making a bee-line for the buffet table. James dropped his voice. ‘You alright?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re watching the crowd like a hawk. Guess Marlene doesn’t know you’re coming? You guys still in trouble?’

‘I’ve not had time to write to her over the holidays,’ Sirius lied grumpily, ‘so I’ll get it in the neck for that.’

‘Chin up, mate. Just turn on the charm. Girl’s mad for you.’ That wasn’t, Sirius reflected, in debate; Marlene _had_ to be crazy to latch on to this mismatched relationship like she had. But all they’d done was part ways under a cloud, a giant question mark, and he didn’t fancy dealing with the answer here and tonight.

Which made it all the more awkward when they reached the buffet table to find Marlene and Nathaniel by the mini-quiches.

‘Potter, Black! Thank Merlin; with you guys here we bring the average age just a _smidge_ under fifty.’ Nathaniel’s grin made it clear Marlene had _not_ informed him anything was wrong in the relationship.

James seemed to realise this, going right to Nathaniel’s side. ‘Well, you know us, we’ll never turn down a good party - and a McKinnon party is _always_ a good party…’

With James keeping Nathaniel’s focus as he yammered on about the glories of the festivities, Sirius turned to Marlene with a sheepish smile. ‘James picked me up sort of last minute. You look nice tonight.’

She wore dress robes in an elegant, somewhat Ravenclaw blue, which Sirius actually thought rather drained her of colour, with her blonde hair and pale complexion. But while her smile was reserved, he could see her fighting the curl at the corner of her lips, fighting the blush that threatened the moment he did anything remotely charming. _Girl really is mad._ ‘That’s alright,’ Marlene said softly. ‘I’m glad you’re here; I know my parents weren’t going to send an invitation to the Black family but I’d wondered if the Potters might bring you along - and that’s _fine_ -’ The softness faded as the babbling kicked in. ‘- an invitation to the Potters is as good as an invitation to you at _any_ function, I think anyone knows that -’

This time, the fact his family weren’t invited sunk in properly. Of course they weren’t; they wouldn’t be caught dead rubbing shoulders with the McKinnons, and the McKinnons wouldn’t be caught dead associating with the likes of his parents. Orion and Walburga had looked thoroughly disapproving when he’d said the Potters would pick him up for the party, but it was still a _reputable_ party, and one not worth the fuss of refusing him access to. But it would have been quite different had they known he was actually involved with a McKinnon.

 _Sirius has been so_ terribly _well behaved this term_ _…_

He stepped in and reached for her hand, and took advantage of her hesitation to bow and kiss the back of it with a smirk. ‘I didn’t like how we parted ways,’ he said, letting his smile and tone soften as he straightened and moved closer. ‘So when James mentioned the party, I just knew I had to see you before Monday. And your parents have been just lovely to me…’

He could imagine his parents’ faces if they knew he was getting closer not just with the Potters, but the McKinnons, too, and that made it even easier to smile back at Marlene as she relented, squeezing his hand. ‘I hated not talking to you, too,’ she said, all reserve melted. ‘Just seeing you again -’

‘Alright, alright.’ Nathaniel’s voice was wry as he cut in. ‘Easy, Marls, Mum and Dad are _right_ over there and if they’ve been nice to Black, we want to keep it that way.’

Sirius grinned as he stepped back to just hold Marlene’s hand by his side. ‘Yeah, I’ve made a good impression; let’s not ruin it.’

‘Not that I wouldn’t like to see Mum’s head spin right around, but -’ Nathaniel stopped as he caught sight of someone in the crowd, and waved a hand. ‘Wick! Over here!’

Wick looked like he’d just arrived, cheeks flushed from the cold, but he’d shed his coat and in his formal robes looked every inch like he belonged to the upper echelons of wizarding society. He also, Sirius thought, looked a bit more dour than usual, a frown forcibly banished at Nathaniel’s summons, though his best friend didn’t seem to react and so Sirius kept quiet as he headed over.

‘Oh, good,’ muttered James, on Sirius’ other side. ‘Wick’s here.’

‘He’s alright,’ Sirius murmured back. ‘Decent guy, good laugh.’

‘I know he is. Dickhead.’ It would have been a lot easier for James to hate Lily’s boyfriend if he were more of a prick. Sirius just hoped this would make it easier for James to get the hell _over_ Lily.

‘Nate, old chap, thanks for the invitation.’ Wick shook Nathaniel’s hand a little pompously as he arrived, and at once helped himself to a champagne flute from one of the passing trays. ‘Excellent party, as always.’

Marlene gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Hi, Wick. How’s Lily?’

Sirius wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the edge to her voice, but James gave a hint of a frown and Wick straightened. ‘I’ve not heard from her this week - why, you haven’t?’

Marlene opened and shut her mouth. ‘I - no, I was wondering if you - I’m sure she’s alright, just with everything -’

‘ _What_ everything?’ said Wick. A muscle worked at the corner of his jaw, giving some edge to his aristocratic features, a sharpness that changed his whole face.

‘Oh, I thought she’d have _told_ you.’ Marlene wrung her hands together. ‘There was - she’s fine, Wick, I’m sure she’s fine. There was just a little - she went to visit Corrigan in London right before Christmas and there was some…’ She glanced around, though Wick looked like he had no patience for subtlety, and only when she seemed confident nobody was listening to the six of them did she lean in to whisper, ‘…some Death Eater activity in the area.’

‘I didn’t hear anything,’ said James at once, gruff, scowling. ‘Mum’s friends would have mentioned -’

‘It’s _fine_ ,’ Marlene said again. ‘She’s home and fine, I just hadn’t heard from her since.’

‘But _you_ heard,’ said Wick, frown by now carved into his face. ‘She told _you_.’

‘Well - Dory -’

‘Oh,’ said Wick tonelessly. ‘She just told Dory.’ He drained his flute, then looked around. ‘Nate, I’m going to find a House Elf for a drink.’

‘Over there,’ Nathaniel said apologetically, and Wick was off, leaving them in a tense silence.

James at once rounded on Marlene. ‘Was this an _attack_?’ he asked, in the tense, interrogating tone he usually reserved for figuring out what had gone wrong after a Quidditch match. ‘An attack on her, an attack on Corrigan -’

‘It’s not my story to tell, James!’ Marlene said desperately. ‘We’ll see both Corrigan _and_ Lily on Monday, you can talk to them then!’

‘Well, we can talk to _Lily_ then,’ Sirius drawled. ‘Corrigan might just punch us for looking at him funny.’

Marlene coloured. ‘He only punched _Carrow_ when he was being awful to us both.’

‘And told me to piss off for helping!’ Sirius remembered indignantly.

But from there the conversation fizzled out, Marlene and James subdued, and while Nathaniel valiantly tried to keep things afloat, within a few minutes Sirius knew he’d need to get his own drink refill. So he bowed out and followed where Nathaniel had pointed, making for the kitchens with the hope he’d find a House Elf first who could get him a glass of something _other_ than champagne. He found Wick first, leaning against the wall next to one of the wide doors at the periphery of the party. ‘You alright?’

Wick was nursing a scotch, and took a slug before he replied. ‘Thrilled. My girlfriend has a brush with a Death Eater attack and doesn’t even tell me.’

Sirius winced. ‘She probably didn’t want to worry you with a letter.’

‘Yes, why would I be worried by _actually_ having the facts, and having them from _her_?’ He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed, and loosened his collar. ‘More than that, if something bad happened to _me_ , I’d want her to know. I’d want to talk to her. It’d make _me_ feel _better_ by talking to her.’

‘There is that.’ Not knowing what else to say, Sirius slumped against the wall next to him. ‘You’ll see her soon.’

‘I will.’ Wick drained the scotch, and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Black, I didn’t mean to make a scene. And I’ll apologise to the others, too. Beastly of me to throw a tantrum when it’s nobody here’s fault, especially not poor Marlene’s. It’s just been quite the draining fortnight.’

‘You’re telling me.’

‘This time next year, _you_ _’ll_ be getting both barrels from your family, mark my words. The last Hogwarts Christmas break. It’s time to make life plans.’ He glared at his empty glass. ‘And my father and I have rather different opinions on what those plans should _be_.’

‘Now _that_ one I know.’ Sirius gave a humourless smile. ‘My parents would rather I spent time with the likes of Mulciber and Avery, not the McKinnons and Potters.’

‘And certainly not me, hmm?’ Wick gave a thin smile at that.

‘Oh, _you_ _’d_ give them fits.’

‘Delightful. I live to give bigots fits.’ The smile waned a little. ‘I’m sorry, old chap. That’s a bit more severe than my father and I bickering over where I go next.’

‘Sure, but I know how family expectations can be a right bastard.’

‘That they can.’ Wick lowered the empty glass, giving up on it at last. ‘Thank you for listening to my bellyaching. It’s a New Year’s party, I should be far more festive. But I came here with this bugbear and now this about Lily…’

Sirius patted him on the shoulder. ‘Nothing you can do about either thing here and now. You know what you can do here and now?’

‘Try to source the full bottle of that rather quaffable scotch?’

He beamed. ‘Now that’s the sort of curious thinking I expect from _Gutters_ _’_ author.’

Wick gave a long, good-natured groan as he straightened. ‘For the last time, I did _not_ write _Gutters._ ’

‘Fine, fine, find us the bottle and in return I’ll believe you…’

Inevitably, New Year’s Eve passed in something of a blur. There was scotch, and a Wick who loosened up with a drink in him, so of course they had to find some for James, too, though he was still tense about Lily and a good deal more cautious about his drinking when his parents were at the party. Then there was Marlene, hanging on to his every word once he returned, which made half-inebriated eventual conversations with Abraham McKinnon _far_ more awkward. It didn’t stop midnight from being celebrated with festive cheer and enchanted fireworks and more drinks, and Marlene’s lips on his, and the next thing he knew he was staggering through the front door to Grimmauld Place after being dropped off by James’ parents, who were altogether too indulgent of his condition.

His mother stood at the top of the stairs as he headed for his room, a shadowed sentinel of disapproval. ‘You’re _late._ ’

‘Mum, it was a New Year’s party.’ He had to grab the banister rail tight to haul himself upstairs.

‘And you’re _drunk_.’

‘ _And_ ,’ Sirius said, lifting a finger as he passed her, ‘I’m going out with Marlene McKinnon. Happy New Year, Mum.’ He didn’t wait for more than her look of shocked disapproval before shutting the door to his room behind him, and he was asleep almost as soon as he’d collapsed face-down on the bed.


	31. Rain and Snow

_But I ain't going down_   
_That long old lonesome road_   
_All by myself_   
_-_ _“On the Road Again”, Canned Heat (1967)_

Her father had to work the day she returned to Hogwarts, so Lily rose early to make him breakfast. The toast was burned and the scrambled eggs overcooked, but he ate it without complaining, kissed her goodbye, and left. With her own packing done the night before, this left her several hours before she’d need to summon the Knight Bus and get to King’s Cross, so she was curled up with tea and a book in the living room when there was a knock at the door.

She opened up with trepidation, some instinct telling her she should have kept her wand to hand. A man stood in a business suit too expensive to _ever_ be worn by a Death Eater, and yet the hairs on the back of her neck did not settle, and only rose further when he said, ‘Miss Lily Evans?’ He looked in his forties, dark hair bearing distinguished grey streaks, strong features lined to show years of frowns more than smiles.

She did not open the door any further. ‘Yes?’

‘My name is Adam Murphy. I have something important to discuss with you.’

‘Your name doesn’t really explain who you are, and I don’t have much time…’

He sighed and gave her a business card. It confirmed his name and said he was a member of the Home Office’s Joint Technical Board. ‘This is supremely important, Miss Evans, and not to be discussed on the doorstep. I’m aware you need to catch a train from London in two hours.’

He said this with sincerity in his eyes, as if it was perfectly reasonable for her to make it from Cokeworth to King’s Cross in that time. She pocketed the card and let him in. ‘Then the kettle’s just boiled if I can offer you some tea,’ she said, apprehension overruled by hostly instincts drilled in by her mother. She could be horribly suspicious of a government official dropping by her house unannounced, but she’d be damned if he didn’t get hospitality under her family’s roof.

‘That’s very kind. Milk and two,’ said the man called Murphy, not taking a seat in the living room and instead inspecting the photographs on the walls as she made his drink.

She watched him from the kitchen, tall and wiry, built like a pencil, and his smiles still did not reach his eyes when she brought him his tea and he thanked her. She sat and gestured for him to do the same, which he at last did. ‘What can I do for you, Mister Murphy?’

‘On the contrary, Miss Evans. This is about what _I_ can do for _you_.’ He sipped his tea and made a small noise of satisfaction she found unconvincing. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. I am aware of your nature. I am aware you have unusual capabilities, I am aware you are a member of the British community of those with unusual capabilities, and I can assure you that neither I nor those of the Home Office who _are_ aware have had any interest in interfering with this community.’

She gaped at him and then felt a fool. Why was she surprised the government had some knowledge, somewhere, of wizards? Wizards, who could only keep a secret if they could wipe memories and were otherwise so incompetent at interacting with anyone but each other. Of course there was a shadowy room somewhere that had Muggle records and files, where they probably didn’t show their hand in case it got them all Obliviated. But of course there was someone _watching_. ‘How…’

‘We have been aware of the community for some time,’ said Murphy flatly. ‘It is not too difficult to identify children who unexpectedly at aged eleven are enrolled in a private boarding school regardless of the financial capabilities of their parents. I’m sorry to say that some of your own comings and goings at the time of your mother’s illness painted a clearer picture. But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to talk about what happened over Christmas.’

‘Christmas…’

‘We are aware that you were in Peckham on Christmas Eve, we are aware that Jack Corrigan is _also_ a wizard. We are aware of the involvement of civilians, and we are aware that Edward Thatcher was _not_ hit by a car, that this was not the cause of his injuries which have doctors predicting he will never recover his faculties.’ Murphy’s expression tightened, and all false amiability was gone. ‘Simply put, Miss Evans, we are aware that while we do not interfere with the magical community, _it_ has, as of late, interfered with _us_.’

Lily swallowed hard. ‘Why have you come to me? I didn’t do anything, I didn’t -’

‘Miss Evans, I’m not here to challenge or criticise you. We do not consider those born within the magical community to be British citizens, subjects of the Crown, under _centuries_ old agreements. We _do_ consider yourself and Mister Corrigan to be, however. And the magical community’s internal conflicts _stop_ being the magical community’s own problems when they impact citizens such as yourselves, and _certainly_ citizens such as Mister Thatcher. Simply put, this “war” of wizards is out of control, and the British Government will do its best to protect its people from danger.’

‘How?’

‘Firstly, I regret to confirm that secrecy is key. We have lost untold information and specialists if the so-called Ministry of Magic has caught wind of their existence. This conversation is not to be shared with anyone, magical or otherwise.’

Lily looked down at the business card. ‘I understand.’

‘In more practical terms, we can offer assistance. You have my number with that card. If you learn of any danger to British citizens from the magical community, further strikes by this terrorist organisation, or conflicts which are in danger of spilling out of control, call me. At the very least we can evacuate endangered individuals.’

‘Why me?’ She looked up. ‘I get the impression you’re not talking to Jack or - or any of the other Muggle-borns.’

‘We need individuals we can trust. The lengths you went to on Christmas Eve make it evident you do not place your faith in the so-called Ministry to save lives. I’m hoping you can place your faith in us.’ Murphy stood and fastened the middle button on his jacket. ‘I understand that this is a lot to take in. We are on your side, Miss Evans.’

‘Wait.’ She stood as he moved to the door, still clutching the business card. ‘You’re not from a “Joint Technical Board”, are you, that’s not…’

Murphy paused in the doorway. ‘The Special Operations Executive was formed under Winston Churchill, Miss Evans.’ He glanced back. ‘You’re in good hands.’

Then he left, and Lily stood in her house wondering if, with her life in so many sets of good hands, it could possibly be in her own.

§

The advantage of living in London meant Jack could get to the Hogwarts Express early to stake out a train compartment. The disadvantage meant this was a lot of time to sit, surrounded by the trappings of the magical world for the first time in two weeks, and think.

So it was a relief when Dory burst in, and an even bigger relief when she didn’t ask him how he was. She did make him stand up for a hug which was altogether more fussy than even her usual friendliness, but then they sat and she filled the silence with her yammering on. Quidditch, it seemed, had been rather dramatic during his time away from a pilfered copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Players sent off and one match lasting eighteen hours, and the usual sort of nonsense Dory was most adept at blathering over.

The respite ended when Lily arrived only at ten to eleven, looking flustered as if she’d rushed. ‘I had to search the _whole train_ for you,’ was her greeting, accusation aimed mostly at Dory, but her expression flickered when she looked at Jack.

‘Hey,’ he grunted.

She bit her lip and sat across from him, next to Dory. ‘Hey. You’ve been alright?’

 _There it is._ He gave a one-shouldered shrug into his leather jacket. ‘It’s been shit.’

‘I’m sorry. How’s… how’s Eddie, how’s everyone?’

‘Eddie’s still in hospital.’ His jaw tightened. ‘He’s going to need constant care. If he’s lucky, they’ll find a care home for him. Else he’s going to be under his parents’ roof the rest of his life and they ain’t going to be able to keep on _both_ working, he’s going to need help with everything.’

Lily’s expression creased. ‘The NHS…’

‘Hospital’s doing its best to kick him out the door soon as they can.’ Jack looked out the window to the bustling platform, the laughing students and the parting families, all either full of joy or with no worse fears than homesickness.

‘I’m _so_ sorry, Jack,’ Lily breathed. ‘And Taz and Sharon -’

‘Still don’t remember a thing. ‘Cos that’s how Obliviation works, innit.’ Truth be told, he didn’t know why he had to sound so accusing at Lily. But he didn’t know how to talk about this without sounding resentful, because the only thing he could _feel_ about this was fury and resentment. Lily just happened to be the one asking the questions.

Dory shifted her weight. ‘I think people know something went down. Might have slipped out from the McKinnons, or considering the DMLE eventually got involved people heard through that…’

‘Or because of whatever fucker _sent_ those Death Eaters there,’ Lily muttered.

‘Does it matter?’ said Jack. ‘Might have been any Slytherin pureblood bastard. Or all of ‘em. Or even _Leo_ , finally shoving his head up his own arse to get to me. Didn’t even think I was worth targeting.’

‘We don’t know they came after you,’ Lily said quietly.

‘Don’t think they were there by _accident_.’

‘That’s not what I meant. I mean…’ Her voice trailed off as she fished for words. ‘Like you said, nobody would necessarily notice bad things going down in Peckham, maybe you were just an easy target and people wanted to make sure Muggle-borns in school were attacked.’

‘The war’s been escalating,’ Dory said quickly. ‘More threats against businesses, government buildings…’

‘More of Muggle-born students flipping off Death Eaters.’ Jack stared at Lily. ‘You think this is ‘cos of you.’

‘This is the _last_ thing I wanted, Jack…’

‘But you think you stood up an’ pissed off the Junior Death Eaters and so to strike back they came for me, ‘cos I’m easier to get at than you.’ He stood, veins fizzing, fists clenched. At some point the train had set off, others with families to wave goodbye to as the Express slid out of the station. None of them did. ‘I’m going to find the trolley.’

‘Jack…’

But he was gone, out the compartment door and storming down the corridor, even if it was far too early for the snack trolley to be out. He could perhaps find where it _started_ , though -

\- and he had no bloody wizarding money _on_ him.

So he was doing nothing more than stalking along a train carriage when he heard a door open behind him, and almost went for his wand when someone said his name. But he spun to find Marlene McKinnon at a compartment door, hair tied back, with that anxiously awkward look she always wore around him. The sort of look he’d expect people to wear around a dog that might savage them at any moment. He forced himself to stop, forced himself to breathe levelly. She wasn’t what he was angry at. ‘Hi,’ he managed to say, voice rasping.

‘I wanted to - I hope you’re alright?’

He was going to just shrug again, but she’d said it like she was expecting an explosion just for asking. So he gave a rough bob of the head. ‘Yeah. I mean, well as can be. Christmas were shit, but I’m okay.’ His jaw tightened. ‘Thanks to you, I guess. I mean, so I hear.’

Her gaze dropped. ‘It was Lily who raised the alarm.’

‘Who told Dory, who told _you_ , who found someone who could _do_ something about it. I can thank more than one person.’ His lips tightened in a self-effacing grimace. ‘Apparently. Maybe. I can try, anyway. So, uh. Thanks.’

She gave him a small smile, not without apprehension, but it lifted her face and made her all the less tense, all the lighter. ‘I, um. Wait there a moment,’ she said, popping into her compartment to return with a box. She extended it to him. ‘This is - well. It’s for you.’

His brow furrowed, but he padded over to take it. ‘What is it?’

‘Well, there’s a funny thing about boxes; you usually have to open them to know what’s important…’

She was teasing him. Marlene McKinnon was daring to tease him, when normally she seemed to expect him to fly off the handle at the mildest provocation. He had to smile a little at that, but the smile froze when he slid the lid off. ‘I can’t accept - what’s this?’

Marlene’s voice came in a rush, like she’d been holding words along with her breath. ‘It’s a camera; a magic one, enchanted to function at Hogwarts, enchanted to take magical moving photographs. I saw you’d lost yours, I mean, got _yours_ broken during what happened, and I realised I’d never _seen_ you with a camera before, and that you probably couldn’t easily get one of these living where you do. So I thought… I mean…’

Now her voice trailed off, and he stared down at the camera which looked all the world like a _normal_ camera. ‘I don’t need -’ Jack stopped himself as the words came out rough, and looked away. _I don_ _’t need your charity_ , he’d meant to say, and knew she’d take it as a blow. _I don_ _’t need your pity_. That didn’t help, either, so he worked his jaw and chewed on bad sentences before he managed, fumblingly, ‘You don’t need to do this.’

‘Then consider it a Christmas present,’ she said, chin raising a half-inch and, perhaps for the first time, meeting his gaze. ‘I know it’s not much. But I wanted to do _something_.’

He turned the camera over and over, a small spark of warmth inside him glittering to life to battle the Dementor’s chill that had never left his guts since the church. ‘Don’t know what to say.’ His voice was a rough mumble, and he broke eye contact to stare down. ‘I mean, thanks. But. You didn’t have to.’ He drew another slow breath, and glanced to the compartment. ‘You’re hanging with…’

‘Some of the Fifth Years,’ Marlene said, not without wryness. ‘Dorothy hasn’t made me _persona non grata_ to _everyone_. Some people are sufficiently won over by… well, my _brother_ to sit with -’

‘You should come down to our compartment,’ he said in a rush. ‘We’re down at the back of the train, but, I mean, if you wanted - Lily and Dory like you, and, well, this…’ He turned the camera over, cursing his stumbling tongue for making every word come out backhanded. ‘You could join us. If you want.’

She smiled, and it was the first time she’d _really_ smiled at him. It made her eyes brighter and her awkwardness softer and for just a heartbeat he thought he might some day forget that church and how it made him feel. ‘I need to pick up something from my brother,’ she said softly. ‘And then I need to get to the prefects’ carriage. But I will, after patrols?’

He nodded, and she, still smiling, slid out of the compartment door to head down the carriage in search of Nathaniel and his friends, and he turned the camera over in his hands, studying it as she walked away. But she wasn’t more than twenty paces before something else sparked in him, and Jack looked up. ‘Marlene?’

She glanced over her shoulder, that smile still lifting her face, and it was the perfect moment to raise the camera and take a snap. She blinked, surprised, and he gave his one-shouldered shrug. ‘Only makes sense you’re the first picture.’ Her smile grew more self-conscious, and she brushed hair behind her ear to hide her face as she left, but he still stood there for a long moment, watching her leave, feeling it lift his heart as he thought things might be alright with everyone -

 _Lily_. ‘Shit,’ Jack hissed, and headed back for his compartment.

She was gone by the time he got there, gone off to prefect matters, so it was just Dory reading a magazine and kicking the opposite bench. ‘Want me to leave you alone?’

‘Wouldn’t have come back if that were what I wanted.’

‘True. Want me to stay shut up?’

‘I… no.’ Jack scowled out the window, the rolling south still visible beyond the train. ‘Sorry. Ain’t good company now.’

‘It’s fine, Jack, I only keep you around for eye-candy anyway.’ She gave him a joking wink and he had to smile a little, and then she was off wittering about the irrelevant. It made time pass, pass enough that he barely realised the better part of an hour had gone by when the compartment door slid open and Lily stood there, prefect’s badge gleaming.

Jack sat up slowly. ‘I, uh, invited Marlene to come join us. If she wanted to.’

Lily was frowning. ‘I heard,’ she said, but she sounded more like she was wondering if he’d sprouted a second head than perturbed at the idea of Marlene. ‘She asked if it was alright. I said of course it was, if you’d invited her.’

Dory closed her magazine. ‘I,’ she proclaimed, standing, ‘am going to go find Mary and the others. And don’t you two bastards look at me like _that_.’

They didn’t pass comment, and Lily shut the compartment door behind her, back to the entrance, hands clasping the handle as if she’d either block the threshold or was expecting a fast getaway. Jack stood so he could stow his camera box in his luggage, but mostly for something to do with his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said eventually. ‘I’m sorry if it seems I’m making this about _me_ , and I’m sorry for _my_ role in this anyway…’

Jack scowled at nothing. ‘Don’t. It were them. Not you. We don’t need to give them a reason, ‘cept for us breathing.’

Lily sighed and moved to the bench as he, too, sat. ‘I don’t know why it happened. But I know I took responsibility for trying to keep us safe. All of us. If I wasn’t going to take that seriously…’

‘Wait. You apologisin’ for _coming after me_?’

She bit her lip. ‘I know everyone thought I was crazy, even you -’

‘I didn’t - alright, I did think you were crazy. But I didn’t want you caught in the middle of this! That’s why I told you to sod off!’

‘You didn’t tell the others to sod off.’

‘Well, for starters, I did.’ He wrung his hands together, looking down. ‘But they ignored me and anyway, Dementor was on our turf. They couldn’t really walk away, not like you could.’

When he looked up, Lily’s face was creased with anguish. _‘I_ couldn’t, either.’

‘You really could. Nobody would have blamed you.’

‘I have already watched someone important to me _die_ because I couldn’t do enough,’ she said in a sudden rush of fervour. ‘I’m not going to be idle again. Not if I _can_ do something.’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘But what?’

Jack looked back down, staring at his hands. The rough skin, the nails bitten to the quick, clumsy fingers, and he scowled. ‘Taz an’ Sharon an’ - an’ Eddie, they… they knew the Dementor would come for _them_. It were personal. It happened at their home.  Not _your_ home, an’ you came anyway, and you could have left all sorts of times but didn’t, and…’ He drew a slow, raking breath. ‘I ain’t used to people going out of their way for me like that. Not even a _little_ like that. Folks don’t risk their necks for _me_.’ He looked up, unable to hide his confusion. ‘Why’d you do it?’

‘I just told you,’ Lily said quietly, her own hands clasped tight together. ‘You’re my _friend_ , Jack. I’ve not had many, and I’ve had even fewer _good_ friends, and if I can’t do what’s right for them, then when will I? For what will I?’

‘We almost fucking _died_.’

‘And that would have sucked,’ she agreed. ‘And wasn’t my game plan. But, frankly, I think I’d have rather died in there with you than done nothing and stayed at home and learnt this morning that you were gone and that I’d failed you.’

Then she’d lunged across the compartment to throw her arms around him and he clumsily returned the embrace, even if it was hard to see for thick overcoat and red hair. She might have been crying a very little; he wasn’t sure and didn’t think he dared find out, so he just patted her on the back and mumbled his own apology, which he thought might have made her cry all the more.

The door opened, and Lily pulled back for them to see Marlene. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she said, turning already to go.

‘S’alright,’ said Jack, cheeks hot, and he shifted over so there’d be space. ‘We were - s’alright.’

Lily confirmed this by standing and hugging Marlene, too, and the other girl responded with about as much awkward surprise as Jack had - before pulling back, flushing more. ‘Oh, Lily, I’m _sorry_ …’

She froze. ‘Why…?’

The both sat down, Marlene chewing on her lip. ‘I - my parents throw a New Year’s party and a few students were there, including Potter and Black and - and _Wick_ , and I asked Wick if you were alright…’

Lily blanched. ‘Oh, no…’

Jack stared at her. ‘Wick didn’t _know_?’

‘I didn’t - oh, God.’ Lily’s hands came to her mouth. ‘I wanted to talk to him about this in person, I didn’t want him to freak out over a letter…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Marlene squeaked. ‘I hadn’t heard from you in a few days either and I thought he’d know…’

‘No, no, you’re - that’s a sensible thing to do,’ said the horrified Lily. ‘Oh, God, and in front of Potter, too?’

‘He was… also perturbed.’

‘Was Wick pissed?’

‘I think he was upset. I am _so_ sorry, Lily.’

‘No, I should find him.’ She shot back to her feet, though did stop to squeeze Marlene’s shoulder. ‘This one’s one me, not you.’

Then she was gone, leaving it just Marlene and Jack in the compartment, and the Ravenclaw gave an awkward sigh. ‘I’m doing exceptionally well today.’

Jack winced. ‘I thought she’d have told him, too.’

‘I didn’t - I just assumed -’

‘Ain’t an unreasonable assumption. Look, they’ll sort it or they won’t. If she didn’t tell him then they got other problems than that he found out from you. If you assumed she’d tell him an’ _he_ assumed she’d tell him, that’s on Lily. Especially a week later.’ She sighed and slumped into silence, and he glanced up at his luggage where he’d stowed the camera, drawing a deep breath. ‘So how does a magic camera _work_ , anyway.’

Marlene’s eyes lit up. ‘It’s more than a simple capturing of a visual; there’s some quite sophisticated empathic magic in there, too. There’s a low-level constant enchantment of the camera reading what’s before the frame, so when you snap a shot it can capture the several seconds around it, but the magics try to gauge automatically how _much_ to capture; just one smile, or long moments of a dance, or - or a whole _prank_ …’

And she kept talking, gesturing with her hands, face lit up with a spark of a smile and more enthusiasm in her voice than was usual for talking to him. Or, lately, talking to _anyone_ ; Jack hadn’t thought he’d paid much attention to Marlene McKinnon in years past, but now he realised the last few months had seen her speaking less in class, smiling less in class, bringing her sparking intellect up less in _general_. So, for once, he was happy to sit back and listen - or, mostly listen, but it was enough to let her words and enthusiasm wash over him, a little reminder that not all was gloom and suffering, and let the Hogwarts Express and her voice drag him further, further away from the darkened church in Peckham.

§

Descending to Hogsmeade station felt like stepping into treacle. Thick and hard to move through, dark and threatening to overwhelm him. Home had not proved the reprieve he had hoped for, but a small island off the north coast of Scotland still felt like it circled the shadowy vortex at the heart of wizarding society. Hogwarts was supposed to be isolated, supposed to be a haven where wider problems could be set aside so all could focus on knowledge, education, on growing up, but only a fool believed that now. And now Graham was returned.

The train journey had been all he’d expected, all it usually was; the calm before the storm, the time where for once they could act like teenagers happy to be reunited, joyful and joshing without the spectre of politics and principles hanging overhead, but that had to come to an end. An end altogether more abrupt than he had expected, heralded by the sight of Emmeline Vance getting into one of the carriages to the school. She wasn’t alone; Edith Walsh, a quiet and unassuming Slytherin girl often hidden under the shadow of bigger personalities, had remained in her company, but most others gave her a wide berth. Emmeline, of course, stood tall and indifferent, out-staring a Fifth Year who gawped, shouldering straight past Alecto Carrow.

_She wasn_ _’t supposed to come back._

The carriage ride passed in a blur, the welcome feast tasted like ashes in his mouth, and it was late evening with them halfway back to the common room before Saul grabbed him by the sleeve, pulled him to one side, and hissed, ‘What’s the _matter_ with you?’

Graham yanked his arm free. ‘Nothing. It’s been a long trip.’

Saul huffed. ‘Yes, your long hours of silent brooding must have been positively _exhausting_. Did something happen at home?’ He glanced up and down the corridor. ‘Did Randal…?’ His voice trailed off, and Graham squinted at him. There were many things Randal could have done or not done to disrupt Christmas, but Graham was unsure what Saul might guess. At last his best friend shrugged. ‘This isn’t an interrogation.’

‘I’m quite alright -’

‘Is this about Emmeline?’ Saul’s voice had dropped to a note of genuine concern, and Graham bit back an oath. There were some matters where he trusted Saul. There were some he did not; the truly important ones, the truly _personal_ ones. But before Graham could school his surprised expression, Saul was talking again. ‘She’s trouble. She’s only going to get into _more_ trouble. You don’t need to be tethered to that.’

‘I’m _not_ ,’ Graham said hotly, then glanced around before leaning in. ‘I told Randal I’d deal with her. After the fight.’

Saul winced. ‘What did you do?’

‘I told her not to come _back_! I warned her, I made it clear there would be retribution. I didn’t think she’d be so foolish as to side with Evans and _stay_.’

‘Was that meant to be her punishment? Or did you hope she’d stay away so there wouldn’t need to _be_ punishment?’ Saul didn’t wait for a reply before he sighed. ‘Well, she doesn’t _look_ cowed. Something’s got to be done.’

‘I know. And Randal will expect me to do it.’

Saul’s expression creased with sympathy. ‘Surely he shan’t expect you to muddy your hands. She’s been a fool and there must be retribution, but it’s cold _even_ for Randal to ask you.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Graham, jaw tight. ‘I offered. He will expect me to deliver.’

‘You can’t protect her from her own choices. _She_ broke up with you. _She_ turned her back on us. _She_ sided with Evans. It’s _her_ responsibility, not yours, to protect herself if she’s going to do such things. Emmeline isn’t stupid. She has to expect something.’ Saul straightened, and reached for his shoulder. ‘Leave it with me.’

Graham stiffened. ‘Saul…’

He rolled his eyes. ‘She won’t be _hurt_ , I’m not a barbarian. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

‘I don’t -’

‘ _You_ don’t have to do a damned thing, Graham. Do you trust me?’

 _No_. But Graham grasped Saul’s forearm and nodded anyway.

They found Randal already seated before the fireplace in the common room when they arrived, Amycus and Alecto and Snape in the comfortable chairs around him. A languid hand summoned them as latecomers, forcing Saul onto the hard stool too close to the flames, forcing Graham to stand against the mantelpiece. The message of the gathering was clear enough; their reprieve was over. The return to Hogwarts had finished, and now it was time for business.

‘We need,’ said Randal, without much pomp or circumstance, ‘to properly put Evans in her place.’

Saul gave a smile that wouldn’t melt butter. ‘I hear she and that brute Corrigan had a spot of trouble in the holidays? Dreadful business.’

Graham watched his brother’s expression twitch, and thought of the rumours he’d heard on the train of a failed anti-Muggle attack in London. ‘I don’t care what happens to them elsewhere,’ Randal said with transparent dishonesty. ‘What matters is that she’s challenged us _repeatedly_ in school, and has yet to be brought to task for that.’

Snape shifted his weight. ‘If you leave it with me -’

‘Severus, we need someone to scare or scar the girl,’ spat Saul. ‘Not for you to whine for forgiveness at her again.’

Snape shot to his feet, a shadow of impotent fury. ‘I have a right to my retaliation -’

‘But not to mine.’ Randal’s voice was a low growl, enough to silence them both. ‘Saul; Severus is one of us, and we have all moved on from the past. I will respect his knowledge of Evans, because it is clear we have _grossly_ underestimated her. But Severus - Saul is right, too. This is about more than you. This is about all of us.’ He gave a small nod, as if to himself. ‘So I will deal with it. She might think herself _invincible_ for avoiding troubles in the outside world, but the time is long past for her to think that Hogwarts is a haven.’

Saul kept his arms folded across his chest. ‘Do you _have_ a plan, Randal?’

Graham felt his breath catch in his throat at the near-palpable bite, saw the Carrows tense, saw Snape slide back to the corner. Saul would never have dared speak such a year ago, a _month_ ago, and there they were, witness to the work of troublemakers such as Lily Evans.

But Randal’s expression remained clear as he lifted his gaze. If Saul _had_ dared say this a month ago, the response would have been explosive. This cold chill was new. ‘We’ve all had enough of posturing, I think, Saul. This time there must be blood.’

The words echoed in Graham through the evening, through the conversation which inevitably _did_ revert to posturing, to Randal holding court as the others clawed for the space at his right hand, everyone assuming they were more successful than the last. But he could focus little, gaze constantly drifting across the crowd, constantly finding the corner where sat Emmeline and Edith, reading magazines and books and chatting and _laughing_ , as if they stood a million miles from the war and not before the coming waves.

It was only by the end of the evening that he looked back to the gathering enough to realise Saul had been watching her, too.

_This time, there must be blood._


	32. Another Lonely Day

_Maybe I_ _’d give you my world,_   
_How can I_   
_When you won_ _’t take it from me._   
_-_ _‘Go Your Own Way’, Fleetwood Mac (1976)_

Lily was out of her seat the moment the first Transfigurations lesson of the year was over, leaving behind a bewildered Dory who hadn’t packed her bag enough to follow or catch up. McGonagall’s words had washed over her all lesson, the morning a blur since her resolution at breakfast. Three days back at Hogwarts and it was clear desperate action was needed.

So she hurried. Slipped between crowds, darted down side corridors, ran down a flight of stairs and had to jump to make the connection as it disconnected and swirled to try to lead her elsewhere. A fifth year prefect shouted for her to stop, but he was being whisked away with the stairs and she ignored him, bolting for the Charms classroom. She had to be fast. Flitwick had a tendency to overrun and her quarry a tendency to linger and indulge the professor’s talking points, but if she was too slow she wouldn’t get a chance again until this evening. And she suspected her Muggle Studies class was going to take a while.

She skidded to a halt as she rounded the last corner, just in time to see the Charms classroom door open and the seventh year Ravenclaws spill out to join the lunchtime traffic. As she’d expected, she had a moment to wait. This was a mixed blessing, giving her time to fix her hair and get her breath back and time, of course, to fret. Not to plan, it transpired, when Wick and Nathaniel and their friends sauntered into the corridor and she advanced with not a clue how she was going to handle this.

‘Wick, we need to talk.’ He’d avoided her on the train, he’d brushed her off for days, and without a plan it turned out she was going to be strident. This would really encourage him to talk.

He hesitated mid-stride, in a heartbeat swapping from animated to frustrated. ‘We needed to talk a while ago, Lily. I’m not only here when you want me to be.’

Too many eyes were on her. Still, she reached for his arm as he turned away, ignoring the gazes of the awkward, the sympathetic, the suspicious. ‘We’ve only just got back, and you’ve been avoiding me. Is this really going to fix something?’

‘Probably not,’ he accepted, and pulled his arm free. ‘But it soothes my pride and puts the shoe on the other foot, so to speak. You might _now_ want to talk, but I, frankly, don’t.’

Then he was gone, and all she had for her troubles was a public dismissal from her boyfriend and the sympathetic but ultimately futile shrug from Nathaniel before he followed Wick into the surge of traffic.

‘So,’ said Dory when Lily arrived at the Great Hall for lunch, sitting down at her bench with a sulky thud, ‘either you just crashed and burned or you bolted out of Transfig for a _serious_ toilet emergency.’

‘Thanks,’ Lily muttered. ‘No, I had to try.’

‘Eat more fibre?’ Dory sobered. ‘He still didn’t want to talk?’

‘Shockingly, ambushing him in the corridor didn’t change his mind.’ She’d sat with her back to the Ravenclaw table. It was easier that way. ‘I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.’

Dory grimaced sympathetically and pushed the platter of scones over. ‘I think you have to wait, Red. He’s pissed at you, and worst of all he’s got a point. He’s going to have to be calmer before you guys have a chance of talking this out.’

‘What’s that?’ Jack tossed himself down onto the bench next to Lily, and stole one of the sandwiches off her plate. ‘Is Lord Fauntleroy being a prick still?’

‘He’s not - I really did kind of screw up -’

‘We almost fuckin’ _died_ an’ he’s the one getting on his high horse?’

‘It can’t have been fun for him to learn what happened in public, at a party.’ It was odd how news travelled, Lily reflected. On the train, she’d only had the odd glance from students, most of them ones she knew to have family in the Ministry or were the type to have contacts. But word had spread like wildfire once everyone was in the melting pot of the halls of Hogwarts. Word was, of course, as jumbled as rumour got. Some people thought her home had been attacked directly by Death Eaters, others at least thought a Death Eater strike itself had happened in Peckham. More outlandish tales involved her and Jack taking down said Death Eaters themselves. Others knew Dementors were involved, but not exactly how. No version of events mentioned Muggles caught in the crossfire, and even the more accurate tales had her and Jack saved by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Even more telling, nobody seemed to believe it was an accident. Not everyone had been sympathetic, even from unexpected corners; she anticipated Slytherin glares. But Head Boy Jeddler had shaken his head at her in the first prefect meeting of the year, tutted, and said something about maybe now she and Jack saw picking fights with the Carrows would only make things worse. If Remus, metres away at the tea table, hadn’t dropped his cup and caused a huge distraction she might have gone for him.

But Lily and Dory shut up about how Wick had learnt when Marlene joined them for lunch. This had become the new status quo; both her and Jack abandoning their House tables to sit with them, now the two had struck a peace accord and Marlene no longer looked at him like he was about to explode and Jack no longer looked like he was about to eat his entire foot around her. At some point Lily meant to press Jack on how this had happened - if it was something so simple as indirectly saving his life that earned her a second chance - but her concerns about Ravenclaws were fully taken up by now.

‘I spent all morning getting the most _terrible_ stink-eye from Carrow,’ Marlene said once she’d tucked into lunch. ‘Alecto, that is. I don’t know if I’m being personally credited with foiling murder or if Carrow’s simply been told to escalate her hatred of so-called blood traitors.’

‘I dunno, it’s Carrow,’ said Dory. ‘Could be her usual face.’

‘Experience suggests this to be even stinkier than her resting stink-eye. It’s frightful you don’t get the credit, too, Dory.’

‘You know, that’s what I think whenever I do a good deed: “Am I going to get credit for it from racist fucks?”’

Lily put down her sandwich and fixed Marlene with a beady look. ‘Have you spoken to Wick lately?’

Being quiet about the problem so Marlene didn’t feel guilty had lasted approximately ten seconds. She coloured again. ‘Not a lot. Nobody speaks to him much right now; he’s with Nathaniel and the rest when he’s out and about, but in the Tower he’s usually up in the music room _brooding_. It’s frightfully dramatic.’

Lily cut off her answer as Potter and his entourage arrived, Black pausing to bend and kiss the top of Marlene’s head. ‘Who’s brooding dramatically? Do I need to increase my mystique?’

Marlene’s face lit up. That had been one side-effect of her joining them at the Gryffindor table. Black still usually sat with his friends, but he always stopped by. It actually, Lily had to accept grudgingly, seemed to be doing them some good to have more casual interactions, instead of having to Make Time Together. ‘It’s just Wick, Sirius, don’t you worry…’

‘I do worry!’ he said with a grin. ‘Rich, fancy, tall, pretty, rebellious - he’s not allowed to add “dark and brooding” to the list, or I’ll have to fight him.’

‘Maybe you could reopen your fight pit,’ Lily said snidely. She for once recognised she was being unfair to Black, taking out on him her aggravation about her boyfriend, but didn’t care enough to stop.

‘I have better targets,’ said Black. ‘And I don’t intend to fight _them_ in a reputable way.’

Lily’s gaze slid past Black and onto Potter. She’d barely seen him, either, since getting back, and there was a tension about his gaze she didn’t recognise. ‘Can we do training tonight? Before dinner?’ Without realising it, a hint of pleading had crept into her voice; she really couldn’t deal with being brushed off by someone _else_ while Wick was knocking her to one side.

To her surprise he seemed to notice, and gave a short nod. ‘Sure. Toilet block after class?’

‘Make it an hour after. I’ve got to talk to Dearborn.’

He nodded and the foursome left. Dory leaned across the dining table towards Lily, grimacing. ‘Honestly, Red, give Wick some space and time to calm down and he’ll be _fine_.’

‘That’s one option,’ Lily agreed, then looked at Marlene. ‘What’s the password for Ravenclaw Tower?’

‘Holy shit,’ Jack breathed.

Dory buried her face in her hands. ‘Or you could ignore his wishes and invade his privacy. That helps, too.’

Marlene looked scandalised. ‘We don’t -’

‘You said he lurks off on his own in the music room. It is _impossible_ for me to get him somewhere private for us to talk properly if he won’t go there with me. So my options are to lure him somewhere or break in.’

‘Yeah,’ said Dory flatly. ‘Those are your _only two options_.’

Jack stole another sandwich and said, pointedly, ‘So did you make it to any matches over the break?’

She had. New Year’s Day, watching Nottingham Forest smash Blackburn Rovers, her and her dad stood in the stands cheering and bellowing in victory like they had not a care in the world. This, and the changing fortune of Millwall, gave her and Jack something else to talk about over lunch while Dory made protesting noises and Marlene listened with polite curiosity, and then it was time to head for afternoon classes.

‘We better be moving our arses on from Shakespeare,’ Dory was saying as they ascended the stairway away from the Great Hall. ‘ _Othello_ _’s_ cool and all, but I need a break. Then again, a break from Liverpool beat poetry also wouldn’t suck.’

‘What _do_ you want to do?’

‘I dunno, whatever gets me an easy NEWT? I’m not here for _culture_ , Red.’

Lily frowned as she recognised a lone figure ahead as they turned a corner, and she picked up the pace. ‘Vance!’

Emmeline Vance came to a halt with a look over her shoulder at them like they were gnats, not like they’d been allies in a fight not a month ago. ‘Evans. _Meadowes_.’

‘Hey, Vance,’ Dory said flatly. ‘Had any houses fall on you lately?’

‘Why?’ Vance’s voice was dry, arch. ‘You’ve got this ingrained urge to start singing, “Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead” like the Munchkin you are?’

‘Oh my _God_ ,’ Lily snapped, looking between them. ‘First: I came over to be friendly, second: you need new material that’s _not_ the Wizard of Oz. Vance, are you alright?’

‘It’s a classic,’ Dory muttered.

‘I’m fine,’ said Emmeline Vance, voice just as flat. ‘Why?’

‘Maybe because you helped us attack Carrow and so I’m wondering if the Slytherins are attacking _you_?’

Vance softened a little. ‘I’m not getting into anything I can’t handle, or that’s not worth it. From what I hear, Evans, you should worry about yourself and your friends.’

‘I can worry about more than one thing. And you stuck your neck out for me; saved my arse from Carrow’s dark magic. Don’t act like I don’t owe you.’

‘That’s sweet,’ said Vance, not relenting. ‘I wouldn’t shove your nose any further into Slytherin business. Alecto knows better than to push me; I know too many of her little secrets. Graham tried to convince me to leave school, but that’ll be the day. I’ve got to get to class.’

Then she was gone, leaving Lily to cast Dory an accusing look as they pressed on. ‘Do you have to be like that at her?’

‘What, just because she’s done a couple good things doesn’t erase the fact she made my life _hell_ for four or five years. You kept your head down and the Slytherins sometimes gave you a wide berth because of Snape, but she was a fucking _nightmare_ to me.’

‘She was awful to me, too,’ Lily protested. ‘It’s not like _she_ cared what Severus thought.’

‘You can forgive and forget if you want. I’m even prepared to forgive. Just not _forget_ , you know?’

But they were at Muggle Studies by then, and the topic of Vance was shoved out of Lily’s head with the fact she had to pretend for several hours that she cared much about this term’s embarkation upon 20th century Muggle history. On a normal day she’d have been enthused; she’d liked history until meeting Professor Binns, but all she could do now was sit at her desk and stare at Caradoc Dearborn waiting for him to talk about something else. Something far more important.

So she packed up her bag deliberately slowly when the lesson was over, and pretended to look surprised when Professor Dearborn perched on the edge of his desk and said, ‘Lily, could you wait behind a minute?’

Everyone else was gone before she stood and planted her hands on the desk. ‘Do I now get to know what the _hell_ is going on, Professor?’

His gaze was level. ‘That’s the point of this, yes. I was going to offer you tea, but I see we’re getting right down to it.’ Dearborn sighed, loosened his collar and red tie, and rolled up his sleeves. ‘I didn’t think there and then was the best time.’

‘I don’t know if _now_ _’s_ the best time. But it is _the_ time.’

‘It is.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘By now you have to know the Ministry is wholly unprepared to deal with You-Know-Who and his followers. Unprepared in that they don’t want to properly confront the problem, and unprepared in that they don’t have the _means_. The Ministry of Magic is a bureaucratic mess intended to interfere in wizarding society as little as possible outside of keeping the Statute and dealing with little, one-off problems, or codifying economic issues. It is _not_ equipped to deal with a nation-wide - international, really, there are foreign wizards in the Death Eater’s ranks - organisation seeking to hound society as a whole and target hated groups in specific.’

‘Yeah,’ Lily scoffed. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Too many at the Ministry underestimate the Death Eaters. Too many _sympathise_ with them; they may despise their methods but they view them as misguided extremists of a dogma that is, at its core, rational. Too many are flat-out corrupted, spies or active collaborators. The Ministry is already poorly organised for rapid response to crises, for intelligence gathering across the nation and of an enemy group. Worse, the parts that _are_ well-organised are all-too often using the war as an opportunity to further political agendas or careers. Increasing the power of the Aurors, for instance, does only so much good if the Aurors aren’t being properly wielded against You-Know-Who - but it does plenty for Bartemius Crouch heading up the DMLE and his influence.’ Dearborn sighed at her impatient expression. ‘You said you know all of this. I doubt you really do; it’s worse than you think.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘So you’re not the first person to be sick of it. Three years ago I spent most of my time in Muggle society, and the parts which blurred with magical; the Muggle-borns who didn’t want to abandon their culture, their old friends, their old ways of life. So it was sudden for me when the wizards I knew talked about the hatred I’d known my whole magical life as something more, something organised, something dangerous. Then they were becoming targets; people ended up in Saint Mungo’s, some were killed. I did what I could to keep a tight communication network, not unlike you did, amongst Muggle-borns in London. Which is what got someone’s attention. Not a Death Eater; someone who said they liked the work I’d done, they thought it was important, and asked me if I wanted to do _more_.’

‘What _sort_ of more?’

‘Before this year, I usually kept in touch with Muggle-borns very much off the beaten tracks, the ones who don’t trust the Ministry establishment. See what they’ve heard - you’ve seen for yourself Death Eaters don’t always attack with a calling card. But there are others in our ranks. Some keep their ear to the ground for leads in the Ministry that they’re overlooking. Some are entrenched in pureblood society, and _they_ hear things. You met Alastor Moody, the Auror who worked with me. You met the McKinnons. Because if we learn something the Death Eaters are doing, if we can identify them to get them arrested or killed, if we can foil their plots, if we can _protect_ people, we don’t sit around waiting for the paperwork that some corrupt shit in the Ministry might sit on. We _act_.’

Lily stared at him. ‘I don’t know if that’s crazier than what I guessed was going on. I thought you were some secret Ministry task-force, off the books.’ This was probably because of her conversation with Murphy. She didn’t much want to think about her conversation with Murphy.

‘I _wish_ ,’ sighed Caradoc Dearborn. ‘That would mean they’re doing something. No, I wasn’t recruited on behalf of Harold Minchum. I was recruited on behalf of Albus Dumbledore.’

Despite her first guesses being wrong, this was the first thing to make Lily stop in her tracks. ‘Wait a second. Did you just say _the headmaster_ is leading a _secret Death Eater-fighting organisation_?’

‘I think it’s time for tea. Do you want tea?’ Dearborn rolled up his sleeves and went to the kettle on the shelf behind his desk. ‘The man was almost Minister for Magic _several_ times. Does it surprise you that he’s more than just an educator?’

‘This is why he’s not been in school.’ Her voice had gone somewhere in the shock, the words low and stunned. ‘He’s out there somewhere organising the fight against You-Know-Who - _how_ , how can a _handful_ of witches and wizards fight this war?’

Dearborn didn’t answer until he’d brought her a cup of tea. ‘Not the whole war. The parts that fall through the cracks of the Ministry. When they don’t dare take the fight to the Death Eaters. When they can’t respond fast enough. When they don’t _hear_ about a lead to even act on it. We’ve got people handling communications, research, leads, the Order’s got _fighters_ -’

‘The Order?’

For the first time, he hesitated. ‘That’s what we’re called. The Order of the Phoenix,’ he said, with the apprehension that saying the words made it real.

‘But - but the McKinnons _work in the Ministry_ , Marlene’s dad heads a department, you’ve got Aurors and officials and teachers fighting this shadow war -’ She only held the tea, fingertips numb. ‘Then why are you _here_? Why’d you come back to Hogwarts.’

Dearborn looked pained. ‘I was asked to.’

‘By Dumbledore?’

‘He encouraged it, but no, not by Dumbledore.’

Lily had never thought of Professor McGonagall as one for drama, but this was the moment she burst into the Muggle Studies classroom regardless. ‘Caradoc, you _cannot_ be thinking of -’

‘Ah, Minerva.’ Dearborn sipped his tea. ‘Cuppa?’

McGonagall stuck her hands on her hips and looked between them. ‘I’m too late, aren’t I.’

‘Actually, I think you’re right on cue.’ He went to make a third cup of tea. ‘I came back, Lily, because Minerva asked me to. Because Albus Dumbledore has work that is more important than Hogwarts, but that doesn’t make Hogwarts unimportant, and the students need more help. More protection.’

‘You could start,’ said Lily, ‘with firing Abernathy.’

Dearborn offered tea to McGonagall and smirked at her. ‘That’s what I said.’

She gave an irritated sigh, not at all mollified by the drink. ‘Professor Abernathy has worked at Hogwarts since before Professor Dumbledore was headmaster. It is exceptionally difficult to displace him without good reason, and he would go to his allies in the governors. He has spent a long time cultivating those allies, and many of the governors are old pure-bloods with established interests in keeping the status quo in the school. All I would do is waste political capital and lose influence. It is _politics_.’ Now she glared again at Dearborn. ‘And I have enough of this from you without you also inducting children into the crisis -’

‘I’m seventeen within the month, Professor. And the Death Eaters just tried to murder a friend of mine, _possibly_ to get at _me_ for standing up against their junior league.’

Dearborn sat on the corner of the desk and sipped his tea. ‘This _child_ has a point, Minerva. The crisis is on the students, whether they ask for it or not. We’re not helping them by keeping them out of it.’

‘Did you ask me here so you had an ally in ambushing me, Caradoc?’ McGonagall said, gaze taut.

‘I didn’t ask you here! I warned you I was going to talk to Lily, because after Peckham she _has a right to know_ , and you threw a right paddy.’

‘I did not throw a _paddy_ , Caradoc; I am supposed to keep the school stable and that does not include inducting students into the Order -’

‘I’m not inducting nobody!’ Hands raised, Dearborn’s more mellow, cultivated tones were sliding off for an accent more like Jack’s. ‘I’m explaining why it wasn’t the _Ministry_ showing up in the middle of the night to save her. You know as well as I do we gotta save ourselves, and each other. Not wait for the powers from on high. They ain’t there.’

‘So I take it,’ Lily drawled, looking between them, ‘that Professor McGonagall is also in this Order.’

McGonagall folded her arms across her chest. ‘Professor Dumbledore has left the school in my care. And I have heard your opinion, Lily, on how good a job I have been doing. I assure you it is more complicated than you think.’

‘I wasn’t going to recruit her, or give her marching orders, or nothing,’ protested Dearborn. ‘I was explaining. Whatever comes next isn’t down to me. Maybe in eighteen months Albus recruits her like he did Muldoon and the others, maybe he doesn’t. But she saw us in action. What am I _supposed_ to say?’

McGonagall subsided at that, and give Lily a glance. ‘I hope you understand I am doing everything for the school that I can.’

‘I get how it works, Professor. You show me leniency one day, Abernathy uses it to justify being lenient against the Slytherins the next. You asked for Professor Dearborn to come back so you have an ally in the staff?’

‘I’m not alone in the staff. And a Muggle-born teacher of Muggle Studies is only going to hold so much influence. But Caradoc is the only other staff member in the Order. There is a difference between those who are sympathetic to the situation the Muggle-born students face, such as Professor Sprout, and those who are prepared to stand up actively.’

‘I’m good at standing up noisily,’ Dearborn agreed.

McGonagall sighed and turned to Lily. ‘I am supremely pleased that you and Mister Corrigan are alright, Lily. And I was terribly sorry to hear that not _everyone_ involved got out in one piece. I do, also, respect what you’ve been trying to do for students in this school. But there is a difference between protecting them, and antagonising the likes of Randal Mulciber. Striking directly at him, at Alecto Carrow, does not make anyone safer. It only engenders more violence.’

‘Don’t be naive, Minerva,’ Dearborn scoffed. ‘Mulciber and his mob are going to come for the likes of Lily anyway. Giving them a bloody nose makes them think twice.’

‘Giving them a bloody nose,’ said McGonagall tensely, ‘may encourage Dementors in Peckham. I am not _blaming_ you for this, Lily, but I am warning you of the risk of escalation.’

Lily’s gut twisted. ‘Mulciber sees anyone standing in his way as escalation. So long as I don’t roll over and die, I’ll be escalating.’

McGonagall’s lips pursed. ‘Perhaps. I want you to be safe, do not mistake me. I do _not_ want the corridors of Hogwarts to be another battlefront.’

‘They already _are_ , Professor. I understand what you’re saying, and I would _love_ it if Hogwarts could just be a safe haven from the war. But it’s not. And until you can just _kick out_ the likes of the Mulcibers and the Carrows, or do _something_ to make them behave, it can’t be. And I know you can’t do that for politics, and I know you can’t make your own teachers keep them under control for _politics_ , so this leaves us Muggle-borns with only one choice: to fight back.’

Dearborn sipped his tea and looked at McGonagall. ‘I’ll help her, Minerva,’ he said, voice quieter, more reassuring. ‘And I don’t mean throw things at Randal Mulciber. I mean if Lily needs to talk to someone, if she hears of trouble, if she needs something _doing_ , she can come to me.’ He glanced back to Lily. ‘I can’t fix it all. _We_ can’t fix it all. But we’ll do what we can.’

A muscle in the corner of McGonagall’s jaw was tight. ‘Caradoc, if _anyone_ has any evidence that you are actively helping or siding with Muggle-born students if they break school rules or even _attack_ other students, pure-blood, well-connected students…’

‘There’s already the devil to pay, Minerva. I’m just getting our money’s worth.’

The Deputy Headmistress drew a slow breath, then turned to Lily. ‘I dislike very much you have to do this. But I understand. Know I am stepping back not out of real choice, and I would much rather deal with all of this myself.’

‘But you need deniability if I fuck up Randal Mulciber, and if you don’t have deniability there’s a serious risk this school gets run by Abernathy in Dumbledore’s absence,’ Lily said coolly. ‘I get it.’

‘I would also much prefer it if you _helped_ your compatriots, and didn’t, as you say, “fuck up” other students.’ McGonagall’s expression twitched. ‘Even little shits like Randal Mulciber. Good day, Miss Evans. Caradoc.’

Dearborn gave her a cheery wave as she left, but waited until the door was shut before he looked at Lily and spoke on. ‘I meant that. I’m on your side, Lily. Anything I can do, anything I can help you with - I came back to Hogwarts to _help students_. Your education’s worthless if you’re not alive. Minerva chose me because I’m a Muggle-born, because I understand what you’re going through, better than she can. You do what you have to do, and if you need me to help with a cover-up, if you need information, if you need _anything_ a staff member can help with, please. Come to me.’

Lily bit her lip and gave a small, awkward nod, which made him sigh.

‘And don’t mind her,’ he pressed on. ‘She’s on your side, she’s just got to fight this war differently to you and me. So she’s got to tell you to not pick fights. Me?’ He sipped his tea, and smirked. ‘I say keep on bloodying their fucking noses.’

She left the classroom with her head spinning. The worst part, in a way, was how surprised she _wasn_ _’t_ ; that the conflict was so bad there needed to be shadow wars came as no real shock. She’d been fighting her own shadow war, the institutions not protecting her enough. That everywhere this was the same, that those responsible on all levels had their hands tied and so only those without accountability had the freedom to act felt natural. It wasn’t how it should have been, she knew. But it was the way of things in this war.

The return to mundane Earth came when she realised her first instinct wasn’t to discuss all of this with Dory and Jack - dear friends, but neither of them so engrossed in the higher politics, the questions of ethics. She wanted to talk about this with Wick. And Wick wasn’t talking to _her_.

So it was with a stomp in her step that she made it to the toilet block beneath Gryffindor common room, and found Potter already waiting there. She stopped short. ‘I’m sorry, was that more than an hour?’

He’d been perched on a sink counter, staring into space, and his head snapped around like she’d jerked him out of a reverie. ‘No,’ he said with a frown, voice subdued. ‘I just came down here to think after class.’

‘You should have somewhere better than a dingy toilet for your manful brooding.’

‘If it’s nice, it can’t be manful brooding, now, can it?’ But there was little spark to his voice or eyes, and he hopped to his feet. ‘You okay? You wanted to practice?’

‘I…’ She’d wanted to burn off frustration, throw spells around against someone who could take it and give back even better, but the conversation with Dearborn and McGonagall had proved more tiring than she’d expected. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Me?’ He rolled a shoulder. ‘Sure. Back to school blues.’

She bit her lip. ‘Is your Dad… is there any progress?’

‘Same as always. Look, it’s alright, Evans, you don’t have to make a big song and dance.’

‘A big song and - I don’t understand.’

‘I get it. We spar. We practice. That’s it.’ She remained nonplussed, and Potter sighed. ‘We don’t have to do the chit-chat, caring thing.’

‘I swear to God, Potter,’ said Lily, blank-faced, ‘I have _no_ idea what you’re getting at. You seemed down, I asked if you were okay. I don’t -’ Then realisation struck, and she stiffened. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, not _you_ , too!’

Potter blinked. ‘Me too, what?’

‘ _You_ _’re_ not pissed I didn’t tell you about Peckham, are you? The fuck _should_ I be doing? Taking out an ad in the _Daily Prophet_ , some public service announcement saying “Lily Evans almost got eaten by a Dementor but she’s fine, don’t worry”?’

He lifted his hands. ‘That’s not what I mean. I heard that you went to Marlene for help, and she made sure the Ministry took it seriously. I didn’t realise you and Marlene were that close. I mean, I know you’re _now_ hanging out but -’

Lily stared. ‘You’re bothered I didn’t come to you.’

‘I’m not -’ Potter gave an aggravated sigh and ran a hand over his hair. ‘I’m not _pissed off_ you went to Marlene before me. I’m just - you know you _could_ have come to me, right?’ The aggravation was fading, and Lily realised she was so unaccustomed to seeing James Potter self-conscious it was taking her a while to recognise it. ‘My family’s got friends. Contacts. Could have helped. Not that you _should_ have, I don’t think you owe me anything. But you… _could_. We’re allies. Aren’t we? I got the Muggle-borns together, I…’

She wilted a little. ‘I didn’t go to Marlene,’ Lily said softly. ‘I went to Dory. My best friend. And not to raise the alarm, just so my best friend knew where I was. _She_ was the smart one who raised the alarm, and yes, _she_ went to Marlene.’ She didn’t mention Dory’s assumption she’d rather be horribly murdered than saved by James Potter. ‘This wasn’t about me discounting your help, or discounting you as an ally, or…’

‘Oh, shit,’ sighed Potter. ‘I know you’ve got a sad Wick to deal with, I’m not trying to be another guy whiny he didn’t get to ride in on a white horse, or whiny he didn’t get the warning. I…’ He hesitated, and looked away. She followed his gaze to the broken mirror in the bathroom counter, jagged glass cutting a line down between their warped reflections. ‘Guess I didn’t much like the idea you almost _died_ , that I could have _helped_ , and I only learnt about it later. It’s not about you not telling me, Evans. Even I’m not that presumptuous. But, like, Christmas Eve I was drinking mulled wine and listening to Celestina Warbeck and scoffing down little puff pastry treats and you were _almost dying_ , and that…’

‘Sucks,’ she finished for him.

‘I’m sure almost dying probably sucked more,’ Potter accepted. ‘But that’s going to bother me. That I was idle when bad things were happening, and happening to _you_.’ He’d straightened by then, looked her in the eye, and in the gloom of the toilet block his dark eyes looked even darker, a fierceness to the brown she was unaccustomed to. Then again, she was unaccustomed to studying James Potter’s eyes. He grimaced and shook his head. ‘That’s all. And it’s on me. Not you.’

‘It’s only _on_ the Death Eaters,’ she said, frozen in place. ‘And I do respect you, Potter, and I’m grateful for all you did. Getting the Muggle-borns together on the train -’

He scowled and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t, that’s not what I’m asking for. I did what I could, and I’m - forget it.’ He sighed. ‘How’s Wick?’

It sounded like he didn’t much want to ask, but it set off a fresh wave of tension in her gut. ‘I don’t know. He won’t talk to me, he walks off in corridors and I can’t confront him in public and I can’t get him anywhere private enough to have it out with him.’

‘That’s unhelpful of him,’ Potter grumbled.

‘He’s got a right to be angry,’ she accepted, ‘but I just want to _talk_ , explain things… I didn’t mean to come down here and lament my love life at you.’

‘I didn’t mean for you to come down here so I could whine about how hard you almost dying was for _me_. Guess we’re both dealing.’ He gave a lopsided smile, then, and looked more himself again. ‘But seriously, you have to pick a better place to get almost murdered.’

‘Better?’

‘Lily Evans needs to die in a more melodramatic way than “shanked in Peckham”. It’s way too common.’

She thought of Eddie, common as muck, Kissed and forgotten in the sink estates of London, and how easy it would be to cover up the truth because so few people cared. But she knew Potter was trying to cheer them both up, and she managed a smile for the effort if not the words. ‘How am I supposed to go, Potter? Blowing up the Houses of Parliament?’

‘I don’t know; strangled in the middle of a big dramatic speech, inspiring us all then giving us some peace and quiet…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, good news! My exams finish Thursday. I cannot promise I will release another chapter next week, but by week commencing May 22nd I intend to shift up to a weekly release of NFA over the summer. Let's roll!
> 
> During the meanwhile I again invite you to check out my tumblr (http://www.itsslide.tumblr.com) for update notifications and occasional random Stuff.


	33. How Many Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to do things this way, but I don't know how to get word out to my readers reliably without a chapter update. So don't get too excited: this is the last update I will be making to Not Fade Away.
> 
> 'But Slide,' I hear you say. 'You told us you'd be writing this **more** over the summer, not give up entirely!' This is true. I said that. And then I got to the end of my studies and all of this free time and I looked at this project and saw... it's not working. I've written a more full explanation on my Tumblr (http://www.itsslide.tumblr.com) for those of you who are interested (alas, I cannot direct link). I sort of suspect this isn't an enormous surprise to a lot of my followers; my heart has not been enough in this project for a very long time and I think it's shown with my level of commitment to it.
> 
> I am sorry. There have been parts of this I have adored, truly adored, and it hurts to leave them behind. But those kernels I have adored have existed in what is, really, a bit of a Sea of Meh and this project was too dang ambitious. Like I say, read the blog.

**How Many Roads**

_Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows_  
 _That too many people have died_  
 _The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind_  
 _-_ _‘Blowin’ in the Wind’, Bob Dylan (1962)_

 

The commotion woke him, dragging him from restful slumber. In his dreams, the sea was a surge of a raging storm, but the crashing waves landed either side of him instead of dashing him against rocks. The whipping wind brought only salt spray when it should have tossed him beneath those uncaring waters, and while all was chaos he stood on a precipice, tall, still, untouched. There was no such calm in the waking world. Shouts swirled around him, from other dormitories through the stairwell and up, storm clouds gathering in the common room. It rose him with a start, sweat sticking hair to his forehead, his nightshirt to his back, and for a moment he wondered why, if he had been so untouched in the dreams, he was left so shaken.

The calm in Saul’s eyes as his best friend sat up, wiped his face, and glanced up with indifference was not soothing. ‘Ah,’ he said with a sleepy smirk. ‘It’s happened.’

Graham rolled out of bed and reached for his dressing gown. ‘What’s happened?’

Around them Severus, Wilkes and Flint stirred in sleepy bewilderment, but Saul flopped back down. ‘You’ll thank me later.’

Graham’s eyes snapped to the door. _Emmeline_. He didn’t stop for his slippers as he thundered out the dormitory, sprang up the stairs two at a time, and burst into the common room to find it a war zone. A coffee table had been knocked over, one of the couches all but exploded - lining ripped, stuffing burst out and floating in the air like downy snow at innocent odds with the torrents of rage in the middle - and Alecto Carrow, sleepy, oddly indignant, still in her pyjamas, clutching her wand as she faced off against a wild-eyed Emmeline Vance.

Graham had never seen Emmeline like this. She was always the picture of poise, a cold statue untouched by raging fire, but now she stood in the middle of Slytherin common room an absolute mess. Robes hastily thrown on were crumpled and too big, her hair was mussed and her eyes and cheeks sunken, skin a greyish pallor in what Graham couldn’t tell was illness or rage.

‘…wasn’t _me_ ,’ Alecto was shouting, wand held firm towards Emmeline’s. ‘But I’m not sorry and I don’t care and it’s _no less_ than you deserve!’

‘ _Deserve_?’ A snarl tugged at Emmeline’s lip, wand coming up a half-inch. ‘I dare stand against your ridiculous ideas and posturing and this is what I get? Those books were my _grandfather_ _’s_ you had torn up, that jewellery you smashed and melted my grandmother’s. I stop you from hitting Evans with dark magic, I get in the way of your torrent of abuse and reign of bigoted chaos, and because you can’t beat me you _break_ my valued belongings?’

‘Better,’ hissed Alecto, ‘than breaking your bones, Vance. How did you think this would end? I didn’t do it, but I most certainly wouldn’t have stopped it. Hell, I’d have cheered on whoever did it. I’d have let them into the dormitory and _kept watch_ while they ruined your things. Look around this room, this _House_ , Vance. You reap what you sow. Do you think there’s a person here who’d so much as lift a finger to protect you from the consequences of your own stupid actions?’

Emmeline did. She looked at the Slytherins, some of them early risers, some of them sleepily summoned by the sound of clashing spells. She looked at them watching with bewilderment not enough to make them intervene, upset too cowed to have them move, and the eyes which were, the vast majority of them, satisfied and triumphant at the state of her. And then her eyes landed on Graham, and he felt her drag the guilt from his chest to the surface, plain enough for her to see.

‘No,’ said Emmeline Vance in a low, soft voice. ‘I suppose there’s not.’ Then she lowered her wand and stalked back towards the girls’ dormitory.

Chuckles of relief and satisfaction washed across the common room as she left, and Graham took one look at Alecto’s satisfying preen before slipping down the stairwell in Emmeline’s wake. ‘Hold on -’

He hadn’t got more than halfway down the stairs before she, at the bottom, spun with the spark of a spell at the tip of her wand. His was still in his gown pocket and so the Stun hit him in the chest, sent him crashing back into the stone steps with a grunt of pain, only to lie there in a frozen pile.

‘ _Don_ _’t_.’ Emmeline advanced on his still form, jaw tight, dark eyes blazing. ‘Don’t you _dare_ , Graham. You warned me, and now it’s happened. Don’t you pretend this wasn’t you. Oh, I don’t mean you snuck into my room and destroyed some of my most valuable belongings _yourself_ , but this has your stink all over it. Because Alecto’s right, I didn’t get broken bones. I was ready for that. I was prepared for all of that. But it’d be just like you to make this happen, what you’d see as a _lesser_ retribution. Or, even more, just like you to _let_ it happen while you stand by and do _nothing_.’

He tried to rise but his limbs were locked, and all he could do was offer an indignant gurgle as she stepped closer and leaned down. ‘Don’t do me any more favours, Graham. Don’t pretend you’re a cut above from them. I thought you were different, I thought _we_ were different, and I suppose I was half-right. You’re not like me, but you’re not like them, either. You’re _worse_.’

Finally he managed to jerk half-upright, his voice coming in a pained slur. ‘ _Em_ …’

‘They’re at least standing up for what they believe in. You? You’re just a coward trying to not pick a side. You’re _weak_ , Graham. You are a weak fucking coward trying to wriggle out of choices or consequences, blinding himself as if that makes him less culpable. And the worst thing is? I don’t think Randal or Saul or the Carrows ever stopped to question themselves; I think their entire lives they’ve been happy with where they stood. You’ve not. You stopped to question. And you slunk in behind them _anyway_. “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing,” I’d say, except you’re most certainly not a good man, Graham. You might have become one, but you failed.’

She straightened, adjusting her too-big robes, and up close Graham realised they weren’t hers; they belonged to Edith Walsh, the only Slytherin who dared help Emmeline and certainly did so quietly. Whatever had happened to her belongings had been thorough. ‘Before you ask,’ Emmeline added softly, ‘that was said by Edmund Burke, a Muggle. I know this because my Muggle-born father quoted him to me last year, when he and I both realised _my_ acting like I was above it all was only making me complicit. That’s why I stopped it all, Graham. That’s why I stepped away from them and broke up with _you_ ; because I realised this schoolyard bullshit was more real than I feared and was hurting people, _real_ people, people like my family. I hoped it might give you a wakeup call.’

Even with her hair mussed from sleep and a fight, her poise still returned with perfection as she tossed dark locks over her shoulder. ‘But I was wrong. You keep on sleeping, Graham. And stay away from me.’

Then she was gone, disappearing down the corridor towards her dormitory, and it took him another few minutes before his limbs cooperated and he could drag himself back up the stairs and back to his own room. Saul was still there, freshly showered, hair wet and mussed as he buttoned his robes up to his throat. He gave Graham a small, sympathetic smirk as he came in. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘I’m - what -’ Graham’s jaw dropped as he stared at Saul. The others were gone, either in the bathroom or up for breakfast, so he had no qualms about, for once, letting go of the tight control of his feelings. ‘I’m _welcome_? That was _you_ , you wrecked Emmeline’s -’

‘Not _myself_ , not directly.’ Saul looked offended he might dirty his hands so. ‘But yes. Something had to be done, and I knew you wouldn’t stand for me letting Alecto work her over with some spells. So I went for her belongings, items she cares about. Some of them she can salvage. Some of them she can’t. But she’ll always remember waking up to find her trunk and its insides shredded, and not a bruise made, not a drop of blood spilt. And she’ll know it happened because of her own actions.’

He stalked forward. ‘I didn’t _ask_ you to do that.’

Saul turned to face him, brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Not in so many words. I know you have a soft spot for her, Graham, but you have to see that she’s dangerous. Maybe this will make her get back in line, maybe it won’t, but it will show everyone that there are consequences. Something had to be done. What did you expect?’ Finally a tension entered his eyes. ‘Or was this the point? You turned away your gaze and pretended it wasn’t happening?’

That stopped Graham in his tracks, to receive the same condemnation from Saul as from Emmeline. ‘She was - those journals you ripped up, she was close to her grandfather -’

‘I’m sorry. When punishing her I should have stopped to ask what she could afford to lose. _Graham_.’ Saul advanced on him, straightening his robes. ‘Your heart cannot bleed for that girl, or for that brute Hargreaves, or for that rebel Evans. I never thought you the foolishly compassionate sort. _I_ dislike seeing people hurt, too; I’m not your brother, I don’t derive some sick sense of satisfaction or superiority from taking people down. From, Merlin forfend, deeds the like of which he inflicted on Aubrey. But we eke closer and closer to the real world and the time has come for us to steel ourselves and stand _shoulder to shoulder_.’

Graham watched him, slumping, heart racing in his chest. ‘You did this on purpose. You wanted to show me.’

Saul shook his head. ‘I thought I was doing this how you wanted it done. But for pity’s sake, Graham. Be a man and open your eyes.’ He went to pass him, making for the bathroom, and let their shoulders brush none-too-gently. ‘You’re my friend. And Randal’s brother. But that’ll only protect you so much if you don’t step up.’

Worst was Graham believed his best friend was honestly trying to help. It was little comfort through the breakfast he spent in subdued silence, a mirror of his brother as Randal sat at the head of the table, commanding without speaking. If Randal had noticed Emmeline’s fate, he gave no sign of approval or disapproval. Perhaps that was intentional, Graham thought. Perhaps Randal thought it best if Emmeline’s punishment was as beneath his notice as she was, a gnat who had been swatted to one side, observed and then rendered irrelevant. He found it harder to ignore her, to keep his gaze off her at the foot of the table, of sunken eyes and sunken cheeks and sallow silence. Until she looked up with a glint of pure loathing in his direction, and he subsided, abandoning breakfast with a sick sense in his gut.

‘I’m going to the stables,’ he told Saul, and left. The cold winter’s air of this late January morning gave not the slap in the face to awaken him he’d hoped for. It only deepened the chill in his bones, and the trudge down to the paddocks and stables only made the aches in his muscles worse. But Muirne greeted him with an enthused nicker, and her breath on the palm of his hand was warm, comforting, and though he knew he had little time before class he couldn’t resist but to get her tack and lead her out and fly, fly.

From high up, the frozen air sending his breath and Muirne’s alike to mist, Hogwarts looked insignificant. A blip of grey stone amid the sea of green and brown of the winter woods. Humanity left but one stammer in the sprawl of nature, and from this high up he could close his eyes and imagine the storm all around him again, eternal and leaving him unscathed. Muirne was warm beneath him, an enthusiastic beast beating her wings against the tug of stubborn ground, and up there, dancing and swirling under grey clouds, they were one, away from all the troubles below.

But any lightening of his heart faded as they descended, and any softening inside of him failed when he finally led Muirne back into the barn to see Hargreaves stood at the door to her stall.

They had barely talked since coming back. They kept opposite shifts tending to Muirne outside of class and in class kept their communication to the barest minimum needed to cooperate. So her voice was as cold as the winds outside when she turned to him and said, ‘this was my morning with her, not yours.’

‘I forgot,’ he said honestly, and led Muirne into the stall, unbuckling her tack without looking at Hargreaves. ‘I needed to get out. She’s exercised, I’ll clean everything out. You get today off.’

‘I already mucked her out.’ Hargreaves’ usually so blank features pinched. ‘It was _my turn_ with her, Mulciber.’

He pulled off Muirne’s saddle and stalked out of the stall. ‘I’m not stopping you from spending time with her, _Hargreaves_. You’re the one who insists you don’t want to work with your partner. I don’t have to accommodate your awkward desire for our group project to include as little group interaction as humanly possible.’

‘True.’ Her voice was still flat, and before he could stop her, she’d taken the saddle from him. ‘But you’ve had your ride. Now leave me alone.’ She went to the tack room, leaving him outside the stall, and for a moment he followed his instincts to stand and let her go and continue to work around her obstinate nature. To shrug and shut his eyes and slip between trouble and confrontation.

‘Where the _hell_ ,’ he found himself snapping as he stormed into the tack room behind her, slamming the door shut in his wake, ‘do you get off looking down your nose at me, Hargreaves? What did I _ever_ do to you?’

She froze before the tack racks, before deliberately putting Muirne’s saddle down and turning to face him, gaze remaining blank. ‘Simple. You’ve not done a thing to show me you’re any different to the rest of them sods like your brother, like your best mate, like your _House_.’

‘I haven’t done a thing! I haven’t attacked someone, I haven’t thrown slurs around, I haven’t so much as held someone’s coat while they did their bullying and insulting! Why do I get tarred with the same brush?’ The storm was back, but it was in his chest now, letting himself focus it all on Hargreaves as he’d been unable to focus it on Emmeline, unwilling to focus it on Saul. ‘And don’t give me some _horse shit_ about being blind to what goes on around me, or damned by association. Am I going to take hell from both sides until I brutalise a Muggle-born or _fight my own family_ to help one?’ His chest was heaving, voice shaking as the words spilt past his lips, and he watched as Hargreaves took a step back, eyebrow raised a half-inch, masks of control and indifference rattled by the outburst he himself hadn’t known was coming. He stalked forward, stabbing an accusing finger at her. ‘I’ve helped you. I brought in Muirne, I helped you pick up lessons Kettleburn doesn’t have time to give you; we’re going to get a _damned_ good NEWT working with and training her. I’ve helped you fly with her, I’ve helped you work with her.’

Finally, Hargreaves’ lip curled. ‘That benefits _you_ , Mulciber. You need the good marks and you’ve been lumped with me; you did that ‘cos you needed to -’

‘I did that because _I wanted to_!’ The words thundered into the small space, washed across her and filled the tack room, a bursting admission that pummelled him as much as her with surprise. ‘I’m not _condescending_ you when I see you’re from a big city and not so well-off and _not magic born_ , so I make sure you get a chance to _see all of this_!’ He threw his hand behind him, towards the stalls, towards Muirne. ‘To see the world, _our bloody world_ , and not in its politics or its fighting but - but magic of blood and bone and _you get that_.’ His breath came ragged as he stared her in the eye, watched her work a muscle in the corner of her jaw. ‘I see you get that. When I see you care, I see you care in your _gut_. That’s why I shared it. Because I wanted to. Because I wanted to show you. Because I wanted _someone_ to share this bit of the damned world that’s… _away_ from…’ Again he waved a hand, this time towards the castle, but at last the words failed him.

Hargreaves hesitated only a heartbeat before she pushed past, taking a few steps to the door and stopping. ‘When I say I ain’t your charity case,’ she said at last, voice low but wavering, ‘I don’t mean about money. I mean I ain’t the poor kid you get to give experiences to so you feel like less of a shit about how you _and yours_ treat everyone else like me.’

‘You _said_ this,’ he rasped, turning to follow her. ‘You said you don’t want me treating you like the exception. But what do I do, Hargreaves?’

She squinted. ‘I’m not telling you what you got to do to play nice with -’

‘ _Whatever_ I do, I can’t win, can I?’ He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it a mussed mess. ‘I follow my brother and my friends and I _hurt_ people. With words or spells or my hands, I - I don’t _care_ about Muggle-borns but I don’t _hate_ you, I don’t want to hurt _anyone_. Not here in school, _not when I leave_ and then it’ll be _worse_ , won’t it? So I please everyone around me and that leads down a road of doing things, _horrible_ things, I don’t pretend my brother isn’t a - a _brute_ …’ Graham found his words crumbling along with his voice, the storm choking him by now, but he’d started and couldn’t stop. He reeled back, pressing his hands to his face, but couldn’t stop. ‘…I know what he is,’ he whispered, but in this small space he might as well have shouted. ‘I know what he does, I know he carved up Bertram Aubrey and - I know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald, and I know what the Carrows are, and I know what _Saul_ is. And I don’t want to be like that.’

Hargreaves had frozen, poised like she might bolt at any moment, and she spoke only after a long silence, for the first time uncertainty rolling off her in waves. ‘Then - then don’t be,’ she mumbled.

His laugh ripped up his throat, near-hysterical. ‘Defy my brother, my family, my friends? If Emmeline carries on, they’ll hurt her. My name will protect me the first time, but then it’ll make it _worse_ , then it’ll make me a blood-traitor, and I’m - I’m not a McKinnon, I’m a _Mulciber_ , I’m not a flock of blood-traitors I’d be one on my own and -’ His shoulders hunched in as he grabbed a desperate fistful of his hair. ‘Merlin, Hargreaves. I’m not a monster. I don’t want to be a monster. But I don’t know how to turn my back on all my friends and all my family, I don’t…’

He’d backed up to the wall by now, slumped against it. The words had dragged every inch of strength from him, dug deep into shadowed corners. Some of these he’d known, some he’d not let himself think of; others, he hadn’t even known were there. But he knew it could have been so much worse with Emmeline and he’d done nothing, _nothing_ to help her. Flying with Muirne had been an escape, but only for a moment, and these brief distractions worked less and less as the solid ground beneath threatened to swallow him, to drag him down not just to its bonds but to hell beyond.

When Hargreaves spoke, she still sounded quiet, uncertain. ‘I get… I get family. I didn’t think about it like that. Where you’re at. Your brother being a shit but still your brother. Your family being elbow-deep in the rest of them shits.’ When his gaze flickered up to hers, even though he thought he saw sympathy in her gaze, she didn’t come closer. ‘It don’t excuse it, but I get it.’

That loosened something in him, and the next words came with even less intention. ‘I think my brother made the attack on Evans and Corrigan happen. I think he wrote to someone and they made it happen. I think it was Rodolphus Lestrange. And I know he thinks it failed and he’s going to make another move against Evans - a bad one, a violent one.’

This had Hargreaves look away with a low sigh. ‘Fucking hell.’

‘Tell her,’ Graham blurted. ‘I don’t know more, I don’t know the details; he’ll probably attack when he sees the opportunity but it’s going to be _bad_. There’ll be _blood_ , he said - _tell_ her, please, Hargreaves -’ That gave him a surge of strength, and he crossed the tack room to grab her arm, finally finding some fire to push back the storm. Then he saw her hesitate. ‘Or do you keep your head down, too? Stay out of trouble, too?’

She yanked her arm free. ‘We’re not the same, Mulciber; when I keep out of trouble it’s so my head don’t get chopped off -’ She stopped in her tracks, and scowled. ‘Blood, you say.’ She sighed. ‘Fuck my life.’

‘You’ll tell her?’

‘I’ll do better than that,’ said Hargreaves bitterly. ‘I’ll make someone _convincing_ tell her.’

She turned for the door and he let her, but again pressure rose in his chest to bring words bubbling out once she was in the doorway, almost gone. ‘Hargreaves?’ She stopped, tall and tense and still, he’d seen, uncertain in the face of all his confessions, and he closed his eyes against the wave of fresh emotions. ‘Thank you.’

He didn’t open his eyes. So in the silence that followed, he thought she’d gone until he felt the slightest pressure on his arm; she’d moved so quiet for a tall girl in huge boots that he’d not heard her approach, not known she was there until the gentle squeeze, and the low words of, ‘This isn’t what a monster would do.’ It came awkwardly, like she didn’t know how to give such comfort, but the sincerity brought a warmth that fought the frozen winds and still wasn’t the fire that burned away inside him.

Now the words finally stuck in his throat and he didn’t know what they would be anyway, and by the time he’d found his voice and opened his eyes she was gone, leaving him alone in the tack room with all his confessions and admissions and guilt echoing in the gloom.

§

‘Duck and cover,’ Cecil hissed at Fletch the moment she sat down in the Ravenclaw common room.

‘Is Flitwick doing a spot check?’ She slipped her copy of the latest issue of _Gutters_ in her Charms textbook. ‘He’s getting bold; don’t worry, I’ve hidden all the booking slips -’

‘Not Flitwick.’ Hargreaves lay on the sofa, boots up, and nudged her toe towards the study tables by the fireplaces, pride of place and centre of prestige for the common room. ‘ _Snobs_.’ Head Boy Jeddler and his friends, a circle which by now included Baddock and her mob, sat there while he held court. Fletch changed seats discreetly and tilted her head back to eavesdrop.

‘…it’s rot, just _rot_ ,’ Jeddler was saying. ‘What do they _expect_ if they’re going to start fights in the corridors? Of course it’s just going to incite the likes of Randal Mulciber and Amycus Carrow to get more vicious.’

‘I _know_.’ Fletch could imagine Baddock stroking Jeddler’s arm as she cooed at him. ‘And I don’t know _what_ Evans was thinking, attacking Alecto Carrow. _She_ didn’t do anything.’

Rufus Burke cleared his throat. ‘Well - she hangs with the others, and she’s _said_ all sorts of things -’

‘You can’t start hexing people for what they say.’ Jeddler sounded, if possible, snootier. ‘We have to let the professors and prefects deal with this and do their jobs.’

Burke sounded even less happy. ‘Even if those professors are Abernathy?’

‘We still have to respect teachers’ authority, Rufus; they can’t run around taking matters into their own hands because of one apple…’

‘Trust a wizard,’ muttered Hargreaves, eyelids heavy, looking for all the world like she was bored and napping, ‘to get the saying wrong. It’s not one bad apple means you ignore the bloody problem. It’s one bad apple spoils the barrel, isn’t it.’

Fletch slid away from her eavesdropping spot. ‘Did I miss something?’

Cecil looked at her Charms book. ‘You’ve not read it yet?’ He dropped his voice. ‘This one didn’t go after Slytherins. It went after McGonagall for punishing all the girls equally for that brawl, and it went after Jeddler and some others for saying, well…’

‘Exactly the shit he’s saying right now,’ said Hargreaves, not bothering to be as quiet. ‘For acting like fighting back is as bad as starting it. For acting like unless they’re doing shit to you like they did to Aubrey, all you can do is say mean things and even _then_ …’

‘Oh,’ said Cecil, ‘ _Gutters_ also had a bit about those thefts from Slughorn’s supplies the prefects were trying to clamp down on for weeks. Reckons some Hufflepuff fourth years did it; if the teachers act on that they’re going to have _hell_ to pay.’

Fletch pulled the copy of _Gutters_ back out and gave it a quick scan. ‘This is narrowing the field more and more on who might be behind this. Honestly, I wonder if it’s Evans herself.’

Cecil furrowed his brow. ‘Bit obvious, isn’t it?’

‘I guess, I’d have thought she’d be smarter. The political bits all add up on it being her, or someone really sympathetic to her corner if they’re going after the likes of Jeddler too. And then there’s the crappier bits of _Gutters_ , the tabloid shit like when it went after Baddock…’

‘Yeah,’ grunted Hargreaves, ‘why would Evans do that? Why would anyone?’

‘Anonymity’s powerful,’ said Fletch. ‘So you start writing it to make a political mess. But you feel good being able to say that shit without anyone holding you accountable, and hey, you’re a student at Hogwarts, which means you’re a bastard teenager with hormones and a vendetta who thinks this adolescent shit is going to be important forever. So in your first big issue you don’t _just_ target Mulciber, target Dumbledore. You target the people you just plain don’t like, too.’

‘ _Or_ ,’ said Cecil, nose furrowed, ‘it’s a smokescreen.’

‘Maybe it’s a really irritated teacher,’ scoffed Hargreaves, then she sighed and sat up like her reluctance physically weighed her down. ‘But speaking of Evans, Fletch, you got to do something for me.’

‘I… do?’

‘Yeah. Came up this morning. Probably should be done soon. Need you to talk to her.’ She swung her legs over to sit up properly and gestured the other two closer. ‘Randal Mulciber’s going to make a move against her soon. Physical. Nasty. She needs warning.’

Fletch wrinkled her nose. ‘Randal Mulciber’s always a heartbeat away from being a violent thug at a Muggle-born.’

‘Yeah, but, like, seriously. He’s planning it, proper planning it.’

‘How do you -’ Fletch saw the look in Hargreaves’ eyes and shut up. ‘This is why I need to tell her, isn’t it. I could have found this out in a _myriad_ of ways. Only so many ways you’d find this out.’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The shrug made it clear this lie wasn’t meant to be believed. ‘Just can’t be me.’

‘You know I don’t like getting involved.’ The braying laugh from Jeddler’s table made her look up, but it wasn’t that group who made her stop cold. It was the figure beyond them, listening to all their judgements of how _not_ to fight back against the likes of Mulciber. Bertram Aubrey, sallow-faced and pale and as quiet as he had been all these months. Fletch bit her lip, and remembered the cold of standing in the shadow and doing nothing. Remembered his screams. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

She knew exactly how to do it, too, because for all their differences, Fletch and Lily Evans had one thing in common: they spent a lot of time in the library. The fact they used the library for very different reasons was, this week, beside the point, but it still meant Evans looked at her like she’d just burst into flames when she slid into the seat across from her table in the Transfiguration section.

‘It shouldn’t be this easy to get you on your own, Evans.’

Evans paused, quill in mid-air, eyes narrowing. ‘I can’t tell if you’re threatening me or hitting on me.’

‘You are _far_ too shouty to be my type. But funny you should mention threats…’ Fletch glanced down to see Evans flick her wrist, wand she’d thought stowed suddenly slid from her sleeve and into her hand. ‘Okay, that’s good. That’s much better.’

‘What do you want, Fletch? I’ve got more important things to worry about than your get-rich-quick schemes.’

‘I don’t have those. I have get-not-dirt-poor-quick schemes.’ She leaned forward. ‘Which means I need to listen to a lot of people and hear a lot of things and stay ahead of the curve, and it also means I’m not in the habit of giving anything for free. So I’m about to do that, which means it’s _serious_ , okay?’ Evans said nothing, so Fletch pressed on. ‘You need to watch your back.’

‘No shit.’

‘I mean in particular. Randal Mulciber’s planning something direct at _you_. Likely violent. I don’t mean generally dangerous, I mean if he gets an opportunity he’s going to hit you.’

Evans paused. ‘Can you give me anything more specific than that?’

‘Wish I could.’ Fletch gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘But I recommend you don’t give him the opportunity, right?’

‘Right. Why are you telling me this?’

She hesitated. ‘Because I share a House with Bertram Aubrey. And I don’t give a shit about your war, Evans, or really _you_ , but Hargreaves is my friend and they’d string her up if they got the chance, too.’

‘If you learn anything else, anything more specific, will you warn me?’

Fletch shrugged again and stood. ‘Depends on what I learn. Depends on how much of a target this paints on me. Don’t get me wrong, Evans, I respect what you’re doing. But I have no desire to be collateral. And doing what you’re doing, there’s going to be a lot of collateral.’

‘Yeah,’ Evans said quietly as Fletch swung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

§

People kept running the other way past him, towards the shouts and calls for assistance. Sirius just stuck his hands in his pockets and kept sauntering, a jaunty tune on his lips, and didn’t stop when James burst around the next corner, wand ready to slip from sleeve to hand. ‘What the hell…?’

‘Oh, that’s just Professor Drake.’ Sirius waved an airy hand. ‘Having a little trouble with his office door. It _jams_ , you see.’

James stopped, shoulders slumping. ‘ _Oh_. From the commotion I thought it was something big.’

‘Nothing big. Merely our esteemed professor in a _sticky situation_.’

‘At least it’s not real trouble.’ James slid his wand back up his sleeve.

‘James.’ Sirius grabbed his arm, frowning. ‘This is some quality content I’m putting out here. At least pretend to listen. We need to _preserve_ this moment.’

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘ _Oh_ , it was _you_ , with the marmalock?’

He mock-preened. ‘I know, you’re a little _jelly-_ ous -’ But James wasn’t smiling, and Sirius wilted. ‘What, the sod deserves it, way he was going on in class this morning.’

‘Being locked in his office for a half hour until someone figures out the counter-curse? He deserves a sight worse than that.’

‘You could look a _little_ pleased. I thought this was what we were doing? Upping our game, going after the big leagues?’

‘And I thought _you_ didn’t want to get involved?’ They stepped to one side of the corridor, voices low. The commotion remained behind Sirius, circling Drake’s situation, and they were best out of the way.

‘I never said that. I didn’t like chasing wildly after Evans as our new lord and saviour. Thought we could do it _our_ way, you know?’

James looked down the corridor with a glint of scepticism. ‘This is our way? Locking him in a room for a little bit? _Their_ guys are sending Dementors to people’s homes, and we’re using novelty marmalade to mildly inconvenience them.’

Sirius’ shoulders slumped. ‘It’s… this is what we _do_.’

‘Yeah.’ James brushed a hand over his hair, but his smile was forced. ‘It’s what we do. Drake’s face is going to be a picture at dinner, right?’

‘Right.’ _This is what we do. And it_ _’s not enough for you, is it?_ ‘Speaking of, we should split up and head that way. No good for us to be spotted too close to the scene of the crime.’ They parted ways, and Sirius made sure to take a roundabout route to the Great Hall. By the time he got there most students were settled down and food was in flow, and he found himself hesitating at the main doors. James had got there before him, sat with Remus and Peter, the three in some oddly sombre conversation he wasn’t sure he had the stomach for. Only a few feet down the table was Evans, sat with an animated Dory as both Corrigan and Marlene, neither of them much for their own House tables these days, listened.

Marlene was laughing. Properly laughing at whatever Dory was saying, head thrown back, hair shining in the light of the sconces. For once he saw in her none of the apprehension or nerves that came off her in waves around others, even around _him_. Even though she’d been sitting at the Gryffindor table lately, he hadn’t tried to join her. He didn’t want to watch his words around her as he talked with his best friends. And she’d not pressed the issue, now more entrenched in Evans’ circle. It suited them fine.

But tonight he couldn’t find it in himself to join _either_ group. He slid unnoticed from the door, and started for the kitchens. At this time he could sneak out a little dinner without anyone bothering him. Sirius wasn’t much one for quiet evenings, but for once it seemed like the time.

He’d spent days plotting the strike on Drake. The timing had to be perfect so he’d had to watch his habits and movements to get the concoction on the door at the exact right moment. Too soon and it’d set without sticking to anything; too late and he’d be spotted. It was the sort of thing they’d done a hundred times over, but rarely to teachers, and usually to the likes of Abernathy when he’d been unkind. Not targeting Drake for the shit he spouted in class. So Sirius had stepped up, because James was clearly looking to, because _not_ stepping up was earning his parents’ approval.

And it wasn’t enough. To James’ eye he was doing the same childish pranks they’d done a year ago, and he wanted _more_ -

He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t paid enough attention when turning the stairs to the kitchens, and so crashed flat into Wick, coming the other way.

‘Ugh - steady on, old boy, you’re moving like a freight train there!’

‘Sorry!’ Wick looked dishevelled and tired, and Sirius reached out to steady him as he teetered at the top of the stairs. ‘Didn’t think anyone else would be headed this way at dinner.’

‘Traditionally we sit down together to break our bread. And it looks like you and I are of one mind in preferring to be _away_ from people.’ Wick glanced down the stairs. ‘I talked my way into a sandwich out of the roast beef they’re serving up top. It’s still warm. Very good with mustard. But I shan’t intrude if you’re wanting privacy.’

‘No, I just… don’t want the usual crowd. Unless _you_ wanted to be alone.�

‘Alone, not necessarily. Without Nathaniel pestering me and getting guilty looks across a crowded room from Lily, _certainly_.’ Wick gave a tired half-smile.

Sirius patted his shoulder with a wince. ‘How’s all that going?’

‘Tremendously, if by “tremendously” you take my meaning to be, “we’re not talking and I still don’t want to talk.”’

‘You got a game plan there? You can’t ignore Evans until she goes away. _Trust_ me, I’ve tried.’

His lips curled again, some semblance of spark returning to his dour, tired appearance. ‘I don’t want to talk to her when I’m angry. That won’t go well for either of us. But it’s difficult; I look at her, and however sad or guilty or earnest she seems, all I can think is, “you didn’t let me in when it mattered most.”’ Wick’s shoulders slumped. ‘Sorry, old chap. I don’t mean to whinge at you.’

‘Whinge away.’ Sirius shrugged. ‘It’s rough, trying to keep up with people you care about, with what matters to them, when they won’t _let_ you.’

‘So sayeth the voice of experience?’

‘Ha. I’ve got James trying to play hero, I’ve got Remus with his head stuck in work more than usual, and I’ve got Marlene, who - look, I know Nathaniel’s your friend and all, but how the hell do you even _reach_ a McKinnon?’

Wick gave a small, wry smile. ‘They are laws unto themselves, Black. With concerns not for petty mortals like you or I.’ He patted Sirius’ forearm, the hand still on his shoulder.

‘And I’m trying my _best_ , but I just don’t know how to keep up with them. With her, with James…’ Sirius sighed. ‘What the hell are we supposed to do?’

The wry smirk broadened. ‘Find solace in another like-minded lost soul skulking about the kitchens for dinner?’

And Sirius’ hand on Wick’s shoulder felt heavier, like moving it would be far too much effort, and he would have sworn the smirk softened in the flickering golden light of the sconces on the wall. Wick had a couple inches on him in height, so he had to tilt his head back to look him in the eye, and lean up when he stepped forward and kissed him.

For a heartbeat Wick froze, for a heartbeat _Sirius_ froze - he had no plan, only action - but then he softened and leaned into the kiss, and Sirius’ hand on his shoulder curled in the robes -

Then Wick pulled back with a low, startled noise, eyes wide. ‘Oh, _bugger_.’

Sirius grimaced, letting go and lifting his hands. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to ambush you there.’

‘ _Ambush_?’ Wick’s expression twisted. ‘But I’m with - and you’re - Lily - Marlene -’

‘Those are… the names of our girlfriends, yes.’ Sirius’ voice came slowly, thoughtfully, but his mind fizzed more with the kiss than thoughts of anyone else, who could have been a thousand miles away for all he cared right then.

But not, it seemed, for all Wick cared. ‘That,’ he said, sticking a finger in Sirius’ face, ‘was a misjudgement. And I apologise. Good _night_ , Black.’

As he stalked off, Sirius watched him go and reflected on how he seemed startled but not angry, bewildered but not truly _shocked_. And only then, with Wick long gone down the corridor, did Sirius stop and think of Marlene and sigh with a twinge of guilt, and of Evans with a twinge of apprehension, and of the possible roast beef sandwich awaiting him in the kitchens with the final, overwhelming sensation: more than a twinge of hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost the worst thing that this is a very **strange** chapter to end on. I'll hope the corners turned by some characters will suffice. They'll have to.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry. Not wanting to let you guys down kept me going for a long time. But it's not enough of a reason for me to commit to what is frankly a **huge** project. Once more, the Blog explains further. But you guys have been gems, real gems, and I have been lucky to have you.
> 
> Someone's probably going to ask if this is the end of my fanfic. Answer: ask again later. I can confirm I am scribbling a bit of Regeneration still; I am not going to update it unless I think I can finish it. I must be fairer to you.
> 
> Not really how I wanted to end this all; I should have stopped at the end of Oblivion and gone out with a bang. But, c'est la vie. It's still been the best ride.
> 
> \- Slide out.


End file.
